#idc if it’s only been like three weeks or something

[cowboyshit]

maybe we’ll get to see the cowboy tonight finally 🥺

[kingtomura]

Cat and mouse

synopsis: Your ex boyfriend has some nerve texting you at three in the morning — an entire week after the disaster breakup you had. You should really go over there and give him a piece of your mind. Well, you know what they say about famous last words.  wc: 6.1k | crossposted to ao3 content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, no quirks au, toxic tomura, reader is kinda toxic too tbh, unhealthy relationships, breaking up and making up, vaginal fingering, overstim, breeding kink, piv, dubcon creampie, degredation, threats of baby trapping, hurt/comfort, sweet at the end idc

You’ve told your friends time and time again to stay out of your business. They never listen. 

“Oh my god, Kirishima? Is he even twenty yet?” You drag as you watch your friend flip through several pictures of the redheaded boy like he was a member of the bachelor. 

She smiles, scrolling her phone for more options, “no, but he will be in a couple of months!”

“No!” Your words are sharp. You love Mina but god, you don’t want her to play matchmaker with you. It’s not like you’re a charity case or something. 

She gasps and you swear you could see the lightbulb go off above her head. “What about Denki? He’s fun!” 

You groan, falling back onto the bed and covering your eyes with your arm. “Mina.” 

“Hey, just give her a break okay? It’s only been about a week.” Your saving grace Yaoyorozu speaks up and it’s nice to finally have someone on your side. 

“Thank you.”

“Seriously? So we’re just going to sit around and watch you mope about all day?” Mina questions, irritation clear in her voice and it grates your ears.  

“Preferably, yes! Just let me be.” You roll over, face officially shoved into your pillow. It’s been a rough couple of days and you haven’t gotten a single call or text from Tomura. Not that you should be expecting one. You broke up with him after all. 

It’s just.. this time feels different. Usually there’s more arguing and he’s fighting for you to stay around, but this time there was nothing. No quips, no insults, just “fine, get out then.”

That hurt the most. 

You had no idea what he was up to. 

Maybe he was as depressed as you were. 

Maybe he’s found someone else. 

The thought makes you stop in your tracks. The idea of Tomura, your tomura with someone else is enough to make you nauseous. 

You jump to your feet and rush to the bathroom, locking yourself in and falling to your knees. 

God, what if that was why it was so easy?

You pull out your phone, the device lighting up and unlocking with your facial id. 

Tomura doesn’t use social media much but you could still check to see if he’d blocked you. 

To your surprise, he hadn’t. 

He hasn't posted anything either and there’s no new person in his followers. 

You feel yourself exhale a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. No change is a good thing. 

There’s knocking on the door and you thank the stars you locked it. Your friends would judge you so hard if they saw you lurking through your ex’s social media. 

“Hey, are you okay in there?” It’s your saving grace Yaoyorozu again and you almost feel bad for shutting her out. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry if it feels like I pressured you! I’ll give you some space.” Mina's regretful voice calls and it makes your heart clench. You know she means well but she just doesn’t understand. None of them do. 

Whether you want to admit it or not, you love Tomura. 

Yes, you argue and yes, you fight, but he just gets you. He’s so cynical, but so caring — in his own special way. Too bad he was such an asshole. The argument wasn’t even supposed to go that far. 

There are tears beginning to blur your vision and you wipe them away, willing the feelings down and standing to your feet. 

If he wanted you to stay away, then fine. You could do that. 

You splash cool water onto your face and take a breath, steeling yourself and getting ready to face your friend once more. It was Saturday and they were convinced you needed a fun girl’s night.

It takes a lot to refrain from cringing at the phrase, but you believe they held some truth with the idea. You definitely didn’t want to be alone right now.

You unlock the bathroom door, meeting Mina and Yaoyorozu’s worried expressions with a smile. 

“We should probably get ready now, huh?”

Mina’s eyes light up, smile blinding and excitement contagious.

“Yes! Jirou and the others are here now.” She starts to clap, excitement buzzing around her, “Girl’s night is going to be amazing!” 

—-

Girl’s night was a bust.

The moment everyone arrived the apartment quickly filled with chaos. Noisy and busy, it was all giving you a headache. Until someone decided it would be a good idea to pregame before going out.

In preparation for the night your friend’s insisted that you get dolled up, hair makeup and skimpy clothes you wouldn’t look twice at on any normal day. 

You had to admit it made you a little more excited to get out and at least feel like your world isn't crashing around you. It was supposed to be a fun little night out. Somehow one drink turned into two, which turned into three which turned into Mina swearing she could beat everyone in a dance battle. 

The group only got more riled up as everyone indulged in this silly challenge. 

One challenge leads to another, which leads to more drinking, which then ends in everyone being too drunk to function and knocking out — all laid out in odd places around your living room floor and couch. 

The groggy feeling came first, your arms radiating in dull pain as you vaguely recalled trying to beat Mina in a contest of who could do the most push ups. It sure as hell wasn't you, but the drunk version of you thought it was possible to move mountains. 

You blink a few times, trying to will your eyes to rapidly adjust to the darkness of the room and find out what this odd buzzing noise beside you had been. Turning over, you find your phone, squinting as the too bright screen lights up your face and you see that it is three a.m.

You had fallen asleep with everyone else.

The phone buzzes again, lighting up and you have to squint further to read the contact name.

Tomura. 

Your eyes widen as you scan over the three texts he’s sent you. 

Wasting no time, you rush to your feet and into the bathroom so you can look at your phone without the chance of prying eyes overlooking your shoulder. Even though they were probably going to be out until late morning.

Tomura’s messages were short, no paragraphs, no essays but three different messages sent in succession. 

When are you coming to get your shit?

I’m tired of waiting.

And I’m deleting our farm btw. 

The first two messages don’t get much of a reaction from you, especially since it’s three a.m and he knows you’re usually asleep around this time. 

But the third message…

Your Stardew Valley farm that you’ve had and worked on together for almost two years being put on the line and threatened? What the fuck was his problem?

This farm was a constant in your relationship. Throughout the ups and downs and back and forths. You were sure that hell would freeze over before you both would give up that progress. But here he is, threatening you while you would have been asleep. What an asshole.

Your feet are moving before your brain can stop them and you make your way to the front door. Since your friends were all passed out it would be easy to sneak over to Shigaraki’s place, give him a piece of your mind and then sneak back. In and out, quick and easy. 

Your decision is made and you grab your coat, deciding to just go over there as you are. You hadn’t changed out of your outfit that was supposed to be for the night out, but it didn’t matter. You only needed to get over there and get there fast.

Once you arrive at Tomura’s doorstep you waste no time knocking. It’s around three in the morning so he should still very much be awake. 

There's a chill in the air as you wait for his answer and you wrap your jacket closer to your body. A rumble of thunder caught your attention and it's then you notice the rain clouds rolling in. You knew it would only be a matter of time before the bottom of the sky falls out and rain drenches everything. You were on borrowed time if you wanted to make it back before then.

After what feels like forever the door finally opens, revealing a very cozy pajama-clad Tomura, who seemed a little too pleased for his own good — if that sly smile he was doing a bad job at hiding was anything to go by. 

You don't give him a chance to greet you or say anything for that matter, stopping his words in their tracks as you cut him off. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk now, the expression making your fists clench and your anger boil. “What do I want? You’re at my door, in front of my apartment.” He scoffs, clearly getting the exact reaction he had wanted from you, “I should be asking what do you want?” 

Caught like a deer in headlights. Whatever, you don't let that stop you as you pull out your phone to show him his text. “You sent this, I know you’re bluffing. What do you want?”

Tomura shrugs, leaning against his door frame and giving you a pleased look. Expression relaxed and content. Not a care in the world. “To talk.”

“Well, I'm here now, so let’s talk.” You spit, crossing your arms and waiting for whatever else he would throw at you. 

“Sure, but you should come in first.” He starts, looking up towards the darkened sky, confirming his assessment. “It’s gonna rain soon, you know.”

Of course you knew that. 

You just didn’t want to give him more time than you had. But you agree and go in, ignoring the fighting feeling in the back of your mind screaming at you to turn away and hightail it out of there. 

Tomura’s home is the exact way it was the day you left, give or take a few more containers of takeout littered around the place. You have half a mind to scold him about it, but quickly remember that it isn’t your place to do that anymore. 

So instead you stay quiet, following him into the apartment and into the living room. Opting to stand as he sat, and resisted the urge to get comfortable. 

“So, what do you want to talk about?” You try, done watching him pick up a controller and boot up a video game. Seriously? 

Your patience was wearing thin now as you watched him ignore you to play some stupid game. You try calling to him again, knowing this was probably a waste of your time and groans.

“I was in the middle of something before you got here. Let me finish and we’ll talk.” It's flippant the way he waves you off and continues the game. The lack of care only hurting your feelings further and making you realize this may have all been a big mistake on your part.

You shouldn’t be at your ex boyfriend’s house being ignored. You should be at your house getting drunk and hanging out with your best friends. There was no reason to stay somewhere you’re obviously not valued.

It’s a simple choice when you put it into perspective. 

But things are always easier said than done. 

You sigh, the air puffing out your cheeks, a bad habit you had when angry, and walk right in front of Tomura’s TV. There was more satisfaction in making him lose the game and then announcing your departure than just leaving quietly. 

He cranes his neck to see around you, but it doesn’t work, finally giving up as his character inevitably dies. “What!?”

“I’m leaving!” You announced, turning on your heel and heading towards the front door.

“You had to make me lose first? I said I was almost done!” He spat back, rising from the couch to follow you.

You shrug, “I don’t care. Why invite me in if you’re just going to ignore me?”

“Didn’t think you had the patience of a child.'' Tomura stands in front of you, cutting through your path and stopping you in your tracks.

It's almost comical the way he insults you. “Okay pot, meet kettle.” You try to brush past him, but he side steps with you. 

“What are you dressed like that for anyway? Did you go out tonight or something?”

“No!” You deny, a little louder than intended and then pause. “But it’s none of your business what I do anyway.”

Tomura hums at this, taking the words in and running them through his mind as he gives you a once over, eyes scanning from the too-tight shirt you wore — showing a generous amount of cleavage, down to your mini skirt that left little to the imagination. 

“Could've fooled me.”

“What do you mean by that?” You hate when he gives you cryptic answers, like it’s impossible to pry into his mind to see what he was thinking at the moment. 

“You knew you were coming to see me so I dont get why you're wearing that skimpy shit. Unless you wanted me to check you out.”

“Not everything is about you, Tomura. Maybe I just wanted to dress up and look nice.”

“Bullshit—”

“God, Tomura you always fucking do this!” You yell, walking right up into his face. The excitement in his scarlet eyes sends a chill up your spin, but you can’t back down. 

He gets closer, matching your tone and you can still see the grin he’s trying to hide. It makes you see red. “Do what? Tell you the truth? You know I’m not wrong.”

“Yeah, you think you know everything, but you don’t. I’m dressed up because I want to be, not because of you.” You’re insisting at this point, frustration threatening to tip over and spill out into the form of another pointless argument. Why did you think you could actually come over and have a decent conversation with him?

Tomura is a master at getting under your skin and hitting where it hurts. In all of your arguments he’s never really pulled out the big shots but you wouldn’t put it past him to do so now. 

“Oh, so you come over to my place dressed like a slut and you expect me to believe you don’t have some hidden motive?”

And there it is.

Your last straw. He could be so egotistical and mean — you’ve had it. 

You regret it the moment you do it, but your body moves before your brain can process your actions. You push Tomura. Hard. 

He doesn’t fall back far but you know it’s enough to piss him off. And he’s never been one to hold anything back, so he shoves you back and your back hits the wall. 

Tomura has you pinned before you know it and there’s a thrill that runs through your body in a way you know you shouldn’t be feeling. Your knees feel weak for reasons that are not related to fear and your panties were gradually becoming more wet. 

His voice is low and his eyes are narrowed as he pins you against the wall, pressing your cheeks together with his other hand. “You’re really starting to piss me off.”

You have to bite back a smile, knowing this has taken a turn and you aren’t strong enough to stop where it’s going. Not that you would want to. 

“Oh yeah? If I piss you off so badly then why are you hard?”

He doesn’t look down. He can feel his own arousal just as well as you can while it’s pressed against your abdomen. 

Tomura pushes off of you — maintaining some distance as he turns away. 

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Sure am.” You supply, chipper and certain as you trail behind him. 

He’s walking further into the apartment, and you follow. Legs moving on their own accord as you go further into the lion's den, exchanging quips and insults. You jab your finger into his shoulder, bothered by the way he continues to ignore you, it's a pathetic attempt at catching his attention and it works. Kind of. 

The only response being him slapping your hand away with a glare and muttering a soft fuck off as he walked on. 

You both went back and forth. Like the sun and moon, you just can’t stay away from each other.  

It was how these things usually went between you and Tomura. He would start up, make a petty argument and you would never back down. Tomura is someone who was used to getting his way and others simply did what he said with no objections. 

But that was not how you were.

And he loved it.

You knew by the way he would get that devious glimmer in his eye when you would challenge a point, starting up a debate. Sometimes they were heated enough to make you both break up. It never lasted more than a few days. A week being the longest.

Push and pull. 

Tomura made his way past you again, ignoring your calls about how you hate being ignored. At this point you’re sure he’s doing it on purpose to rile you up more but you can’t help but take the bait. You grab his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face you as you point a finger in his face. 

“Stop walking away from me!” 

He grabs your wrist and pulls you closer, making you stumble on your feet and almost lose balance. You were so close you could feel the heat from his body and smell the fresh linen scent of his shirt. “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

You snatch your wrist away from him, tension between you two growing hotter by the second as the space between you got thinner. 

“What are you going to do about it?” 

The narrowing of his eyes only made your grin grow wider as you watched the gears turn in his head as he thought about just how many things he would do about it. All of it enticed you, so you beat him to the punch. 

You reach forward again, fully intending to shove his shoulder again for another reaction, another glare, maybe even more words, but he stops you. It was fast, the way you both tumbled through the hallway as Tomura crashed his lips to yours. The relief of finally feeling his lips again meshed with the excitement of how rough he was with you. 

You lose yourself in the kiss, welcoming him in with open arms as you vaguely register the dark walls of his room and posters plastered along the walls in your scuffle.

It was exciting, probably the best part of breaking up and making up. At this point you think the whole point of falling apart is coming back together again. An endless cycle where the reward is worth the punishment. 

Cat and mouse. 

You end up on top of him, straddling his hips while your smug smile beams down at him. Tomura gives you an unamused look in return, yet the way his hands rested on your thighs gave away the ill hidden interest. It was all the encouragement you needed as you leaned down, hovering above him with both hands on his chest. 

“Not so tough now, are you?”

It’s bait. You know it’s bait, he knows it’s bait, but he takes it anyway — the way you knew he would. 

Tomura wastes no time flipping the both of you over, quickly reversing your positions as he settled himself between your legs. It’s dangerous the way his actions riled you up further, and you have to bite your lip to keep the smile from betraying your false anger. You couldn’t let him know how excited you were to be back in his bed. 

He presses your cheeks together and rocks your head left to right, tone mocking and eyes wild with fever, “Oh, look who’s become a firecracker all of the sudden. Where did that flame come from, huh?”

You want to respond, but Tomura beats you to it, releasing your cheeks and pointing a nimble finger against your forehead, “Don’t be dumb.”

His eyes trail from yours and then down to your lips, then finally down to your exposed cleavage. The movement was swift as he cupped one of your breasts in his hand and dipped down, claiming your lips again. It was softer than the first time but not by much, especially not when he matched his pace by grinding his clothed erection into you, making you moan at the contact. 

Your skirt was so short and it made you feel even more exposed than you already were. Tomura had easy access to you and the thin fabric of your panties made everything feel so much closer. 

You moan at the contact, swiping your tongue against Tomura’s bottom lip and wasting no time deepening the kiss as you pull him closer. You needed more and you needed it as soon as possible. 

Tomura pulled the low cut front of your shirt down, easily exposing your breasts from the confines of the shirt and massaged them, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your nipples and making you cry out from the sensitivity. 

He pulls away from you, eyes gazing into yours and you swore in that moment he put you in a trance. Tomura’s ruby red gaze always left you mesmerized and you can’t help the whimper that leaves your lips, brows furrowed and eyes wanting, “Please.”

“Please what?” And he’s not taunting you, he’s not mocking you. His eyes are soft as he brings a hand to your cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” Fuck, you’ve missed him. “I just want you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face as he strokes your cheek, soft look in his eyes making your heart flutter, and then it’s gone. Replaced by a hardened gaze as he moves to remove your shirt and bra, fully exposing you to his hungry eyes, and then moves to remove your short skirt. 

His hands hover there for a moment, debating whether or not he should keep it on and fuck you in it, but then decides against the idea and pulls it off, taking your soaked panties down with it as well. 

The air in the room feels cool against your skin as you shiver in anticipation. 

“Fuck,” Tomura whispers, now eye level with your cunt. You gasp as he runs two fingers between your wet folds and holds the digits up to show you. Syrupy clear slick clung to them, slowly trailing down as Tomura rose back up, eye level with you once more. 

“You’re so wet…” He murmured, bringing the digits to your mouth and you opened, taking them into your mouth and tasting yourself. You kept eye contact as you watched his eyes widen in delight — Tomura loved it when you put on a show for him.

There’s another moment of Tomura pressing against your tongue with his fingers and then he pulls them out, opting for a kiss in exchange, his tongue dipping into your mouth and groaning  as he could taste what’s left of your slick on you as well.

The pleasant feeling and linguid action of your movements made your shoulders relax as you practically melted into his soft bed, the feeling of his body above yours bringing you mountains of comfort. It was a distraction, of course. 

You felt the same two of Tomura’s fingers prod at your slick entrance before pressing in fully and all the way down to the knuckle. The stretch was intense but the pressure was euphoric, making you squeeze your eyes shut and grip him closer. 

He didn’t make you wait long as he pumped his fingers, quickly finding that sensitive spot so deep inside of you that only he could pinpoint and brushing against it over and over. 

The feeling was so good it made you pull away from the kiss to breathe, thighs twitching and toes curling in pleasure. You wouldn’t last long like this.

“Tomura, fuck..!” You moaned, drowning in ecstasy as he continued his abuse of your spot, never letting up or slowing down, aiming to make you cum as quickly as he could. It was obvious he wanted you to come undone as soon as possible by the way he watched your every expression. 

The way your brows furrowed to the way you bit your lip. Tomura eagerly drank every expression and gave it back to you in the form of pleasure. 

“What?” He started, unphased by your dilemma, “Gonna cum?”

It took a lot of focus and effort, but you nod — done with fighting for the night and accepting the fact that you will come apart quickly. So you give in to the pleasure. 

Tomura smiles, a devious grin splitting his features as he curls his fingers, hitting the spot one more time for good measure and you lose composure, your climax crashing into you like a tidal wave. There was nothing you could do besides ride the feeling while holding on to Tomura tight — like you would get swept away if you didn’t. 

He fucks you through it with his fingers, eyes never leaving your face as you come down from your high. 

“Pent up, huh?” He questions, and this time there is that little hint of teasing. It brings you back to reality. 

Yes, you have been pent up. You haven’t been able to get off to anything since you’ve broken up and it’s been hell. 

You have no time for the games, you just want him and you want him now. 

So, you take Tomura’s face in your hands, making him look you in the eyes. The flecks of black in his carmine eyes always makes you remember why you come back. Every single time. 

“Fuck me, please, Tomura.” It's soft and filled with desire that you cannot be bothered to hide, and Tomura has never been one to deny you.

He quickly discards his own clothes, making sure to not stay away from you for long. His cock is hard and leaking precum from the head as he strokes it in preparation. You feel giddy at the thought and watch as he slides the head of his cock between your folds, coating it with your slick, and rubbing against your clit. The action makes your hips twitch up towards him. 

He loves to tease and make you wait, but today he doesn’t make you wait long. Tomura leans down after lining himself up with your entrance and places his free hand behind your head, right above the nape of your neck. His hands were warm and the feeling of those hands cradling your head felt so comforting in the space of his familiar dark bedroom. 

You bring a hand to his hair, tangling your fingers in his ashen locks as he pushes forward. The stretch makes you whimper and Tomura captures your lips in a kiss again, swallowing the noises and releasing a groan of his own as your walls tighten around his cock. 

There's something about the way Tomura drags his hips, the way he starts off at a slow pace, winding you up as he steadily increases his speed and force. It happens so gradually that you don't realize you’re screaming his name until he tells you to shut up — threatening to cover your mouth because he didn't want his neighbors to hear how much of a slut you were.

It drove you mad the way he said it all with a smile and fucked you harder. Almost daring you to be louder so he can punish you with a hand over your mouth.

Tomura knew how rough you liked it and he always delivered, giving you back arching pleasure as he pounded into you. It leaves you gasping and struggling to keep your voice down. Your hands find the surface of his back, trying to hold on as much as you could with building pleasure on the horizon. 

“Tomu— Tomura..! Please,” you cry and he doesn’t miss a beat, driving his cock so deep against your sweet spot it makes you see stars. “Fuck..!” 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Tomura cooed, eyes filled with mischief as he brought you closer to the edge. “Cry for me.”

And you do, your body feeling euphoric as the feeling buzzed up your spine and filled your brain with the fuzz of ecstasy. 

“What are you gonna do, huh?” He starts, his hips grinding against you, the closeness of his pelvis rubs against your clit, making you cry out again, “What are you gonna do when I breed this pretty cunt and make sure you’re stuck with me forever?”

He’s bluffing, you know Tomura doesn’t want kids. He’s just trying to gauge your reaction. Your dedication. 

“Tomura…” You only moan, breath catching as he hits that spot inside you that he knows so well. 

Tomura is smiling, wild and devious, as you look up at him with glossy eyes, so close to crying from the feelings, “I’m gonna do it. I’ll make you mine forever and you can’t do anything about it.” 

“Ah!” You should stop him, tell him to calm down but he has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your back arching off of the bed. Everything is blurring together and you can only slur words as the drool from your earlier kiss trails down your cheek. 

You are completely at his mercy like this and you know your friends would be beyond disappointed.  

It just feels so good the way his cock drags in and out of your body pulling moans and whines from your throat. He was relentless in the way he pounded into you — beyond the point of being soft and slow because he knows that’s exactly you like it. 

“Say you want it.” The command comes with the slowing of his hips and you whine, high and needy as Tomura slows to a near stop.

“Tomura, I—“

“Say you want it or I swear to god I’ll stop right now.” It’s a threat and you don’t want to find out if he’ll go through with it. Tomura never goes back on his word. 

“No, please, don’t— I want it!” you pant, frustrated and aching for more movement.

“I want you to,” you stammer, desperate to have your release. “I don’t care if you cum in me. I need you so bad.”

“That’s my girl,” He coos, dipping his head down onto your shoulder, “Fuck.. love you s’much”

You stop — you’ve never heard him say that. Ever. You doubted he would ever say it since it’s been so long. 

He doesn’t give you a chance to ruminate on it because he's picking up the pace again and giving you the friction you were so deeply in need of. The feelings are swimming in your head as your cries reach new heights. Tomura is too far gone to stop you or care and you’re thankful. You couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. 

The build of your orgasm crashes down and sends you with it, making your thighs quiver in pleasure and your eyes squeeze shut. Tomura’s mouth meets yours before you could cry out, the warmth of his tongue guiding you as he fucked you through it. 

He didn’t last long after, the way your walls tightened around him with the force of your orgasm has Tomura’s pace erratic as he chased his own high. 

The bed shook as Tomura finally finished, hips stuttered as he released inside of you, hot seed coating your insides and making heat rise to your cheeks. He really did it.

You watch as he slows to a stop above you, his eyes closed as he enjoys the feeling of release. Tomura’s breathing was heavy and you couldn’t stop yourself from bringing him down into another kiss, traveling from his lips to his cheeks and then back again. 

It was intimate and you were worried it may have been too much, given the reason you were both in this situation was because of a stupid breakup. 

Tomura’s pulls out of you, making you wince and taking the feeling of being so full away from you. He doesn’t go far, opting to stay on top of you and rest his head on your shoulder, wanting to keep you as close as possible. 

“You really piss me off.” He mumbles into your shoulder, out of breath and tired. “God, why can’t you just stay with me.”

“Tomura…” Your hands run through his hair, the sweat is making it stick to his forehead as you wait for him to keep talking. 

“Stop leaving me.” His voice is firm, unwavering.

“You told me to go.” 

“I didn’t think you fucking would. I would never actually want you to.”

“I can’t read between the lines Tomura, I’m not in your head.” You make him look at you this time, pulling his hair a little to get him to raise his head. “Did you mean it?”

“I just said I didn’t—“

“No, the other thing you said.” He gives you a look of pure confusion and you lose a little bit of hope, “when you said you loved me?” 

You stare into his carmine eyes, hoping, praying it wasn’t just pillow talk from the heat of the moment. 

He looks at you for a long time, frustration still wearing on his features. If you didn’t know any better you would say he was pouting. “Of course I meant it. I’ve always felt like that.”

“But you’ve never said it!”

“I show it!”

“How?” This is getting frustrating and going in circles. 

He groans, sitting up and taking his warmth with him. “I’m not going to sit here and list everything I’ve ever done for you. I don’t think it works like that.”

You open your mouth to counter, irritation on your tongue because that’s not what you meant, but Tomura stops you again. 

“I don’t know how to explain it, okay?” He shakes his head and sighs, laying next to you on the bed and looking up at his ceiling. “It’s weird. I have these strong feelings, but it’s not hate, it's not anger. It's the opposite of that.”

You stare at him as he focuses ahead, keeping his eyes trained on the uninteresting ceiling above.

“Father said it’s a weakness and I should feel that way but,” There’s a pause as he looks away from the ceiling, meeting your eyes finally, “if it’s so weak of me, then why are the feelings so strong?” 

Your heart aches. It's clear that he’s torn, and with the strange way he was raised you know that he can’t help the way he is. 

“Tomura…” 

“And it won’t go away. I can’t fight them down or push them away like I can with everything else. It eats me up and I… guess I lash out because of it.” He shakes his head and for the first time Tomura looks defeated. You’ve never seen him this way — he’s always been filled with confidence and self assured. “I just don’t know what to do.”

You bring a hand to his cheek as you press your forehead against his. It kills you that this is what’s been on his mind and you aren’t sure what you could do to fix it. Maybe there was nothing you could do, physically, but you would do your best to be there for him emotionally.

“Sometimes,” you try to be careful with your words, knowing how much Tomura looks up to his foster father even though the man has been nothing but strange to him. “People say things that aren’t true because they don’t know how to live with it.”

Tomura’s guardian cannot live with love nor the idea of it. 

“That doesn't mean you have to live that way.” 

And it’s the truth. 

Tomura doesn’t say anything, just watches you with heavy lidded eyes, ruby red nearly glowing in the low light of the room. He was so much more than what people thought they knew of him and you didn’t care if it took time for others to see that.

He leans in, closing his eyes and you meet him halfway into a kiss. 

It's warm and it's soft and you know that even when your phone is buzzing from dozens of missed calls and texts from your friends, it will be fine. 

You and Tomura would take things one day at a time.

[reiderwriter]

NSFW Prompt Requests - I’m in dyer need of 127 or 150 if you’d be so kind?🥵

A/N: I feel like I say "I got a bit carried away" in every single one of these authors notes, but this one I think I really did...

Word Count: 3k

#127: "I can taste myself on you."

#150: "Stop clenching, baby, you're already tight enough as it is."

Summary: You're hot for teacher. So is every other girl on campus. Your Professor, however, is absolutely oblivious until you spell it out for him...

Warnings: Professor x Student, age gap, oral (M receiving), face-fucking, no birth control/ condoms, creampie, male whimpering and moaning mentioned a lot, PinV sex, both of them are Switches idc idc 18+ MINORS DNI

Check out my other stuff on my masterlist!

You had been in his class for around three weeks when you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. If you were going to keep up your GPA and progress in your grad programme, you were going to have to either drop the class with Professor Reid, or persuade him to put you out of your misery. 

You’d been intrigued by the course to start with, of course, which is why you’d picked up the criminology elective when it wasn’t a required class. But it was only available this semester as he was only Guest Lecturing while on leave from his job at the BAU, and getting that kind of insight from an actual industry professional rather than an academic really couldn’t hurt, right? You’d thought that until you’d seen him. 

Expecting some older man with a stuffy tone and a disdain for modern technology, you’d been roughly awoken when he walked into the lecture hall on the first day and you found yourself hanging on to his every word as he read through your syllabus. You were spot on with the technophobia, but for everything else, you were blissfully incorrect. He was, quite possibly, the hottest man you’d ever seen in your life. You weren’t secretive about your thing for older men, joking all the time about your “daddy kink,” but you’d never had a thing for one of your actual professors before, and it was driving you insane. 

It didn’t help that the word had travelled around the entirety of your campus as well, with multiple girls turning up to audit the class after the first week. You’d been green with envy since you’d seen them mooning over the man, and you’d felt disgusted with yourself almost instantly. He was your professor, he was damn good at his job, but he was so deliciously tempting that you couldn’t find it within yourself to actually pay attention in his classes. You knew it was only a matter of time until the man, who you realised was obviously blind to how attractive he was to a bunch of twenty-somethings with a penchant for danger and a willingness to try all kinds of new things, would catch on to how many of his students were openly lusting for him.

You hoped that you had learned enough in his classes on behaviour that you could accurately hide your feelings and thoughts, however sinful and objectively obvious they were. Your hopes were crushed on that fateful day three weeks into the semester. 

You’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed already. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, your clothes were all still wet inside the washing machine in your apartment meaning you had to throw on a short skirt and pray you didn't flash anyone, and your roommate hadn’t closed the fridge properly the night before, so the milk you wanted to use in your morning coffee had spoilt. After dragging yourself into class, the last thing you’d wanted to see was twice as many students auditing the class as the previous week. 

To give it to the man’s obliviousness, he hadn’t noticed until about two thirds of the way into the class, when he asked a student why they weren’t taking notes.  He’d seemed confused. You were almost furious that he didn’t know what effect he was having on you, on every girl in the vicinity, but, more importantly, you. Unable to help yourself, you let out a scoff that gained his attention. 

“Is there something wrong with the class materials Miss…” he trailed off, waiting for you to supply your name to him. 

“Oh, no, uh, Y/N. My name is Y/N, there’s nothing wrong, sir. I’m sorry.” His lips twitched as you replied, but he went on with his class, as you sunk into your chair in shame. You were going to have to drop the class now. He must hate you, or think you were stupid, or think that you hated him, and your thoughts were spiralling so out of control that you hadn’t noticed the class had ended, and he was calling up at you from the lecturing desk. 

“Miss Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, and his goddamned eyes were filled with such concern you hated that every part of your body was screaming with desire for him. Unable to respond, he tried again. 

“If you have the time, would you like to come talk to me in my office? I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” You should’ve said no, just based on the ridiculous scenes filling your mind, but you didn’t hesitate to nod your approval. You picked up your bags and made your way down the steps to where he was waiting with all of his stuff near the front door. He opened the door for you, and you felt your heart race as you awkwardly slid by him in the doorway. He had to be a fucking gentleman, too, right? 

You followed him as he made his way to his office, staying silent the entire way. He looked like he wanted to make small talk but didn’t know how, choosing instead to just mirror your silence. When you reached his office, he apologised for the mess and showed you inside, letting you take a seat on the couch whilst he put all his things away. The room was littered with books of all sizes, and you noticed that the titles didn’t seem to have one common subject linking them all, or even, in fact, seem to be written in the same language. You spotted a beaten up copy of War and Peace on his desk next to an obviously used coffee mug, and some paper files that looked to be the reading from that morning’s class. 

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly plan on having guests, uh, make yourself comfortable?” He asked it as a question, and loosened his tie as he said it. You stared at the small patch of skin on his neck, your eyes lingering just a moment too long before you remembered you were in a room with an actual FBI Profiler, and that if your thoughts were any louder, he’d handcuff you himself. As tempting as that was, you really didn’t want your Professor knowing about all the ways you’d imagined him fucking you. 

“Professor Reid, I’m sorry, I have to leave, and- and I think I have to drop out of the class.” You stood up suddenly, and he stood up too from his place at his desk, shocked at your sudden anxious outburst. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, is there something wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked taking a step closer to you, but you took a step back again, accidentally pressing your back against one of his many bookcases in your haste to avoid him. 

“Yes! I mean no, it’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable. I’m not uncomfortable, really!” He had the look of a kicked puppy on his face now, and you realised this man would be the death of you. You weren’t even sure what it was about him that entranced you enough to stay and continue the conversation.

“I can’t focus in your classes, Professor,” you sighed out, letting your eyes drop with the embarrassing confession. 

“That’s perfectly fine, many people struggle to pay attention in college classes. Is there anything I can do in my lectures to accommodate to your needs?” Your eyebrows screwed up in frustration with his obvious professional kindness. 

“No, Professor, I’m sorry, unless you stop looking like that there’s nothing you can do.” You ran a stressed hand through your hair as you begged your mouth to shut and stay shut. 

“...What?” The confused tone in his voice let you know that he had no clue at all what you meant by your words, but he didn’t go further. You chanced a glance up at his face, and were met with a small blush rising to his cheeks, as you watched the words process in his brain. 

“Professor, every single person in that class that is attracted to men would kill to do absolutely sinful things to you. You’re like the campus’s collective wet dream right now. You had to know that, right?” You sigh out, finally putting the man out of his misery.

“Oh. No. No, no, I didn’t. Know that, I mean, I didn’t…Is that why there are so many people auditing the class? They want to…. Do that with me?” 

“Fuck you, Professor. They want to fuck you. You can say it, we’re both adults.” You resigned yourself to the fact that this conversation was probably going to haunt every waking hour for the rest of your life, and just let it happen, pushing through the cringe to help him come to certain realisations. 

“And that’s why you want to drop the class?” he asked finally, looking back up at you. 

“Yes.” 

“Because you want to…fuck me?” 

Your mouth dropped open at his words, as you desperately tried to back track, but all that came out was hot air and blubbering sounds as you felt your brain short circuit like his had just moments before. 

“I mean… I guess,” you finally stuttered out, your fight or flight instinct begging you to just run, but something deeper, something carnal planting you in position and making movement in that moment impossible. 

“Oh…. right.” He nodded at you, his lips spread in a thin smile as he nodded at you awkwardly. You stood there together in silence for a minute, but it became clear soon that the logical part of your brain was no longer in control of your mouth. 

“Can I?” you asked, almost startled at your own boldness. 

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice raising higher in tone at the incredulity of your statement. 

“Can I fuck you? If I do, maybe I’ll be able to, you know, pay more attention in class. Get it out of my system, you know.” Growing emboldened by your own words, you took another hesitant step towards him, reaching your hand up to gently touch his arm. His jaw clenched at the contact, but he didn’t move away, didn’t suggest you stop right there and forget this conversation ever happened. 

“Please, Professor Reid. Please fuck me,” you trailed the hand up his arm and back down his chest as he stood there just watching you beg for him. You discarded your bag on the chair, and keeping your eyes focused on his, trailed both of your hands down to his belt, slowly enough that he could push you away at anytime. 

“Do you know what you’re doing, Miss Y/N?” He asked quietly, and you smiled, finally happy to get a reaction from him. The smile had dropped from his lips and there was something suddenly dark in his tone that had you clenching around nothing. 

“Yes, Professor,” you said, letting your hands start working on his belt, undoing it agonisingly slowly as you watched him control his breaths. When you finally had it undone, you finally looked up at him again, and gave him a smile as innocent as you could muster. 

“You have my permission,” he whispered into your ears as he gently put a hand on your head and pushed you down to your knees, perching himself on the edge of the desk. You wasted no time then, desperate to live out each and every single one of your fantasies with him. Reaching into his pants, you found him already hard and pulsing, and you released his cock from its confines quickly. Spitting into your hand, you gave him a few quick strokes as you watched him grow even bigger under your touch. 

Letting out some sinful breathy moans, you looked up at him, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut as you finally reached your tongue out to lick at the tip of his cock. He twitched at the contact, and you felt the warmth pooling between your legs as you watched his each and every reaction. Finally wrapping your lips around him, you decided to put him out of his misery, sinking down on his dick an inch at a time until he was hitting the back of your throat. He was delightfully vocal the whole time, moaning and whimpering so much that you almost pulled off him completely and begged him to fuck you raw. But the taste of his cock was intoxicating and you wanted more and more of him. After a few minutes of your agonisingly slow pace, you felt his hips beginning to buck up to match your pace as he began to face-fuck you. He grabbed a handful of hair, and you did your best to relax your throat, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his thigh and sinking deeper into your open hips on the floor. 

His eyes were still screwed close, but he was moaning out your name now, with a few expletives thrown in too, having done a complete 180 from the few minutes earlier when he’d hesitated to even say the F word in conversation. You felt he was getting close when he started thrusting deeper, sloppier in his movements and more breathy in his moans. He suddenly pulled out of your mouth and lifted you to your feet, bringing you face to face with him. 

“We didn’t… we didn’t say where I would, um…” he tried to say but you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a hot kiss to his mouth, your tongues quickly twinning as he returned it in kind. You stood there, lips locked and breathless in that space for quite some time, neither of you caring about the lack of oxygen you were getting. Finally, using the hand that was still fisted in your hair he pulled you away from his lips, and you whimpered pathetically at the loss of contact. 

“I can taste myself on you,” he panted into your neck as he held you close, the words sending a shiver down your spine and forcing another moan out of your mouth. The pain from his tight grip in your hair only heightened your pleasure as he moved his lips back to your exposed neck and continued his ministrations. 

“Please, professor….” you begged again, desperate for his attention. “Please fuck me.” 

Without removing his lips from your neck, he quickly moved the two of you back to the couch you’d been sitting on before, guiding you into his lap, his cock still hard and free from his pants. Your skirt spread open, and your hard landing meant you could feel all of him pressed against you. You thanked the gods for your suddenly well-timed laundry efforts as he grabbed the base of his cock and started teasing you through your panties. You were sure they were soaked through as you sat in his lap, grinding down on his perfect cock, his mouth still pressed into your neck. 

“Fuck me, please fuck me,” you moaned, and he complied, finally hooking a finger under the seam of your panties and moving them to the side as he pushed up into you with another throaty moan. 

“Yes, thank you. Thank you Professor, thank you.” You moaned out in bliss as you sank further and further down on him, pushing further than any man had been. before. 

“Stop clenching, baby, you’re already tight enough as it is,” he ground his teeth in a hiss, and you moaned at his words, the pervertedness of them shooting straight to your core. 

“Can’t…help myself. You feel so good, sir.” He started moving then, holding your waist as he started lazily thrusting upwards. After having your mouth wrapped around him, he knew that too much too soon would mean that this wouldn’t last long, and you had begged him nicely, so he wanted this to feel as good for you as it did for him. Gripping one of your hips tightly in one hand, he let the other fall under your skirt, and started pressing into your clit. You threw back your head at the contact and started riding him, matching each of his upward thrusts with a downward thrust of your own, letting his thumb gain speed as it followed you up and down. 

“Fuck, professor, thank you…I’m gonna cum, fuck, thank you so much,” you stuttered out as you could feel your orgasm rip through you, collapsing into his arms as he thrust quicker into you now. 

“Y/N, where… where should I….” His voice trailed off, and after a few seconds regaining your sanity after your climax, you finally answered the question he’d been desperately trying to answer.

“Inside… Inside me, Professor Reid, it’s okay…” he whimpered at that, at each thrust he pushed into you, his head falling to the crook in your neck and your hands stroking the hair at the base of his neck as you clenched around him again, finally pulling the desire out of him. He came noisily, even with his face buried in you, moaning so delightfully you knew the sound would be your new distraction for the next three weeks. 

When he finally regained his composure, he let his hands drop from your waist, his head rolled back on the couch, and you fell with him, wrapping yourself around him as if  you never wanted this coupling to end. You stayed there, head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and drifted to sleep. 

You awoke an hour later, but there was no sign of the Professor. He’d cleaned you up somehow, because there was no unpleasant feeling between your legs, and he’d wrapped a blanket around you as you slept, making sure you were comfortable. Collecting your things and making to leave, you almost convinced yourself that it had all been another fantasy, and that you were becoming seriously delusional about the man. As you approached the door, however, you spotted a small note taped to the handle, and quickly pulled it into your hands. 

Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for visiting me today. I hope you decide to stay in the class, I certainly could learn a thing or two from you. 

- Spencer Reid. 

P.S. You’re lucky I’m an MIT Graduate with a job in the FBI. There’s a security camera in my office. 

[kurokens]

In The Middle | Satosugu

anime/manga: jujutsu kaisen

character: gojo satoru & geto suguru

words: 798

pronouns: they/them

request: none

notes: probably an overused prompt but idc sue me, i needed to write one of my own. im a sucker for misunderstanding. i haven't written anything in such a long time, it's been a while im sorry, satosugu have been on my mind for a while, and i needed to write something with them because i love them so fucking much. it's gonna be a series, so hopefully i dont disappear after one part lol... later on it might be specific on some insecurities bc i need it and i thought well let's just share it with the world and other who might need it. sorry for any mistakes T-T

not proof read

song rec: SHE'S - In The Middle

genre: hurt comfort, fluff, slowburn, a little bit angsty, poly?

warnings: bad english not my first language, satosugu are in a loving relationship, misunderstanding, pinning, a lot of pinning on satosugu's end, reader is so oblivious (is that the right one?), insecure and self conscious reader

You've always told yourself you weren't the type to live with anyone, you liked your quiet and your peace. Alone in your little bubble, without a soul to disturb it. And yet, here you were awoken by your roomates lover quarrel in the room next door, for the hundredth time this week.

"Don't you love me anymore? Am I not enough for you?" a whiny voice whisper-screamed "Satoru, my love, it was a dream, it was all in your head." an exhausted voice replied

"So what?? It doesn't mean anything? Are my feelings not valid?" Gojo huffed.

"How are you so dramatic so early in the morning? Let's go back to sleep come here.", Geto carefully lifted the blanket so his boyfriend could go back exactly where he belonged, asleep and quiet in his arms.

Such occurences weren't new to you, you could even say there were your daily life, that's why you laughed hearing the bickering couple, and turned around in your bed to try and fall back asleep while their muffled voices could still be heard in the background. This was without counting on what part of their conversation your brain decided to pick up on next. "I dont know for how much longer I can do this Sugu.." Satoru sighed. "Me neither love, but there is nothing much we can do about it.They live with us." His black haired lover replied. "I know, ugh I know, but it's getting so much harder everyday. Seeing them is becoming unbearable. I can't stand it anymore, we need to do something." He went on. "Shh, I know, I feel the same. But we can't just drop this on them all of the sudden and expect it to go well." The oldest reasoned.

Your heart shattered on the other side of the wall, now sitting against the headboard, an unstoppable flow of tears falling down your face. You were a bother? You thought the three of you were friends, shit, scratch that, best friends. And yet, yet, this was how they felt about you. Fuck fuck FUCK You needed to calm down, it's okay, you're okay. It must have been a nightmare, yeah that's right, a nightmare. Your brain loved playing tricks on you, waking you up in the middle of the night with the most vivid and realistic nightmares ever, enough to send you into full blown meltdown. Nothing to worry about, it was just a nightmare, nothing else. That's what you told yourself and yet when you woke up you couldnt shake this weird feeling in your stomach. You contemplated staying in your bed all day and avoid your roomates but that would be silly to ignore them for something that was potentially just a dream. So you shook the silly feelings away and got out of your bed, made your way to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Your two roommates were already there, being lovey dovey in each others lap and the weird feeling made its way back into your stomach. "Hi there." You greeted tiredly, only to be met with an echo of short hms, and not even a nod to accompany the cold greeting. The lack of acknowledgment not helping with your already overthinking mind, you decided to take a quick breakfast and just leave them be. It could just be a coincidence, nothing to worry about haha, right? Or so you thought, because you were back in your room mindlessly scrolling through tik tok when you once again hear the muffled voices of your roommates. Your brain screamed at you to put your headphones on and drown out their conversation, but you couldn't get yourself to do it, and you decided to listen to them, to at least finally be able to know whether or not you dreamed what happened last night. And maybe you shouldn't have, but what else could you do now but listen to the cruel words of the ones you once considered your best friends. "Suguru, we need to do it soon. I can't even handle looking at them in the eyes anymore, let alone utter a word to them. We can't keep going like this." Satoru complained. "I know 'Toru, I know, but you need to understand it's not as easy as you think it is." You heard the black haired man answer. And it was enough for you, you needed to get out of there. You obviously were no longer welcomed here, and the sooner you left, the better it would be, for both parties. So inbetween tears you picked up a bag and threw some spare clothes and anything that you could think of in your frenzy state before you ran out of there, determined to never come back, at least not for a while.

here u gooo!! sorry i've been away for a while, i've been finding it hard to write and staying focused, but i missed it so much, especially for these two. i'll try not to take too long to write AT LEAST a second part, but would love to do more than this bc i want it to be extremely slown burn and a little bit angsty krkrkr

part 2 is here!!

[cha-melodius]

First off, NO I'm not writing another Nova, Baby sequel. But I am dredging up this banner because I am writing firstprince spies again. I blame this one on @dumbpeachjuice and also @everwitch-magiks for suggesting... well, just read it, I think you'll figure it out.

“There has to be some mistake, something else it could be—” “Touch him.” Alex actually takes the phone away from his ear and stares at it, like Nora will be able to see the incredulous expression on his face. “I can’t— I’m not going to fucking touch him, Nora, he’s barely conscious.” “I’m not telling you to grab his dick, idiot,” she snaps. “Put your hand on his face or something. If I’m right, just the skin-on-skin contact should help revive him.” This is insane. Certifiably, actually insane. And yet Alex’s feet carry him over to the couch, where Henry’s supine form lays nearly unmoving, the only sign of life the slow rise and fall of his chest as his labored breaths wheeze through his lips. His cheeks are vividly flushed, which is made even starker by how fucking pale the rest of his skin is. So sickly, deathly pale that it ties a knot in Alex’s stomach, no matter how much he doesn’t care for the guy. Henry doesn’t stir as he kneels next to the couch, nor when Alex puts a hand on his shoulder to try to revive him. Gritting his teeth, Alex takes a deep breath and reaches out to lay a palm on Henry’s cheek. Henry gasps, his pale eyelashes fluttering before his eyes shoot open and start roving wildly over Alex. It’s so sudden and startling that Alex tries to pull away, only for Henry to grab his wrist in an iron grip and press Alex’s hand harder against his face. They stare at each other for a beat, then another, then Alex experimentally swipes his thumb over Henry’s skin, brushing against the corner of his mouth, and Henry moans. “He’s awake,” Alex croaks in disbelief. “Nora, what…” He can’t bring himself to ask the question. Doesn’t want to hear the answer. “Oh, you’re gonna have to fuck him, little buddy,” Nora says matter-of-factly. “Good luck.” Alex hangs up the phone.

Thanks to @kiwiana-writes, @three-drink-amy, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @bigassbowlingballhead, and @heybuddy-drabbles for the WIP Weds tags, and to everyone who's been tagging me in the wip tag games for the last couple of weeks that I have not been responding to, including @porcelainmortal, @adreamareads, @suseagull04, @lfg1986-2, @itsmaybitheway, @magicandarchery, @getmehighonmagic, @leaves-of-laurelin, @indestructibleheart, @iboatedhere, @affectionatelyrs, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @firenati0n, @sparklepocalypse, @orchidscript, @14carrotghoul, @nocoastposts, @sherryvalli, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @maxbegone, @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, and probably others I'm forgetting bc I could only go back so far. Please consider this your tag back if you have not already done WIP Weds!!

Also tagging some other folks because why not, idc if Wednesday is almost over, share if you want! Time is fake! @clottedcreamfudge, @anchoredarchangel, @ninzied, @myheartalivewrites, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @historicallysam, @indomitable-love, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd and anyone else! Tag me!

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

The Lamb's Mother (3/3)

Probably should've let this rest but meh it's my first fic in years idc. CW: suicide, disemboweled corpse, Lamb has the worst mother of the three. [Start] / [Prev] / [Next]

Their mother warned them.

She said, “There’s something not right with a lamb who can’t follow.” And this was true, as they could listen, and they could try, and they could learn, but they couldn’t follow.

While gathering apples in the wild orchard they once got distracted and found a hollowed tree with the biggest honeycomb they’d ever seen. It was enough for the whole flock and then some, so they spent the rest of that morning digging the pit and foraging the herb and directing the smoke and wrapping the comb and—

Yes, in the end Ram admitted they’d brought back some ten pounds of honeycomb, but also none of the apples they and their cousins had gone for. None of the sheep had been brave enough to come find them on their own, and had chosen to keep gathering apples instead.

“We need honey for mead, and spread, and medicine,” Ram allowed, their horns curled twice in loops as strong as a mountain’s twin peaks. “But we also need apples for cider, and pies, and for hungry sheep to snack on.”

He gave them a tiny pink apple, still tangy from the summer sun, while the others ate fresh pie. At least Grandram let the wandering lamb sneak a bite of honeycomb with their cold supper.

They were Mother’s third lamb.

Their eldest sister went fishing with their cousins and, one time when the water turned dark and the sky began to rumble, she threw her basket into the whitecaps and waited for the first kin to run before taking off. She left two of their cousins behind for the jellyfish of pestilence to tear apart and returned home with no fish, but she followed her friend and they both came back.

“She came back,” Mother repeated when they didn’t understand. She’d brought back no food and lost two kin-folk, how was this a good thing? “Nothing is worth dying for, not food, not love, nothing. She came back, and you will do the same. You will always come back.”

Their brother was a skilled craftsperson. He could fix a wagon wheel in an hour, and build a tent in blink, and he taught them and their cousins how to read the bark of a tree for the good wood and the hills for straight stone. He was proud of his apple press, a construction of meticulous joints, strong timber, and a single precious gear bartered for a month’s worth of soap and seven jars of berry jam.

This, they understood. They could always make more soap and gather more berries, but the ants only came out of their tunnels for a few months a year, never in the same place, and they didn’t part with their metals easily. That their family went without soap and jam for a few weeks was worth it, in their eyes.

Mother disagreed. She bleated all autumn about dirty wool and plain bread until the first batch of cider was made from the press. They made so much they could trade it back to the other lambs for what their brother had spent, but she never really forgave him.

“You cannot plan for tomorrow without sacrificing today,” she warned them, but the meaning didn’t take. It never did. They were a lamb who couldn’t follow their flock.

Their crooked horn proved it. Grandram bleated in fright at the next spring’s sheering when their nubs sprouted—one proud like Ram’s, one twisted to the side.

It all made sense after that, and nothing Ram said could make it better.

They cried for weeks, throughout the whole migration from the protective mountains of Silk’s Cradle down into the Dark Wood for planting and foraging. There was nothing Chaos, Famine, Pestilence, or War could do to fix their horn, and such prayers would have only made it harder to hide from the hunters.

Mother was done with their crooked weaving, and barred them from the loom. She let them keep their hook and needles, so they could make flowers and mittens and tiny sheep from the undyed scraps, but not at her stool.

Their sister chased them from the garden patch so they would stop over-watering and badly pruning. She sent them to find seeds and saplings and nuts and cool rocks and anything else to throw in the compost when she was done going through it. There were a lot of rocks.

Their brother, who cared more than he should have, let them keep whittling birds and knives and little hoops—but only with the junk wood. They made a new flour bowl for Mother, but she never used it. They made fishing hooks for their sister, but she left them behind. They made a new handle for the apple press, but it wasn’t as good as the one their brother already had for it.

Their horn kept growing wrong. Curled like Ram’s but out instead of back. They used a chisel and broke it off, then the other. There was no one to pray to to beg them both to come back right.

Grandram made them sit and learn letters with them. When that failed, they put a flute in their mouth and a drum at their feet. When these lessons began to take, they brought the books out again but this time they sang the stories. Knowing the words made the shape of them come together. Understanding the story made it easier to re-phrase and re-write it their own way.

The still ants traded with the sheep because once the sheep had given them an island wrapped in mists. In exchange for the island, their people travelled under land beneath the sea across the sky to come here. They did not come on the dogs’ boats, or the cats’ balloons, or the ponies’ carts. They did not ride with the pigs or share with the birds or play with the foxes. The sheep were the last to leave the island, and they gave the ants land and water and stone to hide their journey away from home.

Once they had been a people like every other: with villages and hamlets and acres of pasture and orchard each one tended, not like the wild trees and the garden patches. They had summered and wintered in the same groves, and never moved unless they wanted to, never parted unless they chose to, were never hunted. Ever.

They had had a god once too, one they shared with the birds and the cats and the ponies and the pigs. And Famine had only claimed them for so long until Bounty returned; and Pestilence had lurked but Renewal had protected them; and War had raged only until Peace was restored; and Chaos had its day but Order was the norm. There had always been death.

Ram said he liked how they could sing and play at the same time. He said they would make a great storyteller one day. Ram said many things that didn’t matter in the end.

“There will always be death,” their mother warned them, that summer in Anura’s mildewed fields. She said it with the warm rain soaking their fleece, slowing them down in the mud up to her waist. “The only constant left for us is death.”

They were the one, muscles straining and limbs shaking, who wrenched themselves up on the rock and looked back. Mother just sat there, in the mud, staring up at Ram’s desiccated body hanging from the crown of a mushroom tree over their head. The hunters had put out his eyes, and his entrails had been pulled out like ribbons and tied around their brother’s neck to decorate the real noose that had strangled him.

Behind them, in the rain, trapped in the muck, their sister screamed as Famine’s hunters caught her. They couldn’t see them for the tall stalks of grain. They heard every slop of flesh and broken bone.

“Go,” Mother said, her black eyes raptured on Ram. “I don’t know the way without him. I don’t know how to be anywhere without him. I don’t want to follow if he won’t lead me.”

“Mama—” they begged, voice breaking, world ending, hands reaching. “Mama, please—”

She closed her eyes, the dark sky pouring curtains of rain down on the mire. She held her palms open on her mud-stained lap, face up in the thundershower, her heart and throat open with no god to want her.

“There’s something not right with you,” she warned them. “You’ve never known how to follow. So, go. Go.”

Red lights in the rain. Green torches, yellow flames, chittering and squelching and the plop-plop-plop of webbed feet leaping through the muck.

They got on one knee, Ram’s blood staining their ruined fleece as they reached out. She was close enough to touch. She was right in front of them. She just had to try.

“Mama!”

“Just go away…”

Mother pulled out her good cooking knife. Lightning filled the world with white.

Three hundred years later, in the gateway between life and death, the Lamb will look up in the unending white and see people they know, and care about, and are deeply, deeply unlike all strung up on posts with their entrails exposed. Their blood will spill like mana to feed a god they no longer understand. They will be told to kneel, to submit, to become small in endless storm of their world’s history. They will be expected to follow. They will be told to follow. They will be ordered, and screamed at, and condemned to follow.

“There’s something not right with me, my Lord,” they will say, salty tears hot as summer rain down their blanched face. The crown in their hands will bend one point, crooked like the horns between which it has sat for centuries. “I’ve never known how to follow.”

The Red Crown will become Mother’s good cooking knife.

But on that day, in the distant past, at the edge of a fallow summer field with the faint stink of woodsmoke and burnt wool threading through the midnight rain, they weren’t strong enough to watch their mother take her own life. They turned and fled before she placed the edge to her throat. They ran and did not stop running until the sun was high and the mushrooms ran thin in the summer yellow grass.

Their mother warned them. She told them they could not follow, and in the end, after their capture and chains and the swing of the axe: she was right.

They did not follow.

They came back instead.

[Start] / [Prev] / [Next]

[cat3ch1sm]

🕸️~ yes yes ive been gone again and ignoring you guys blah blah blah im very sorry 😭😭😭 but i return momentarily to drop this fic based off another one of the lovely star’s atsv headcanons. here it is below:

🕸️~ go check out their tiktok acc!! she’s a lovely and talented writer and awesome person and i was so excited to publish this one :)) it is super long tho so just be aware loll 😭😭 there isn’t nearly enough Margo writing for my liking tbh n idc if she was only on screen for three minutes

enjoy!! also yes yes i do intend to get to all of your requests for a Christmas present.

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐛𝐲𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

It had been a short time since Miles’ escape from the Spider-Society, and things were in shambles. There had been countless objects, rooms, and technology destroyed during the massive chase, many of which would definitely take weeks, maybe months, to repair. There were constantly maintenance robots and machines, that had previously hardly ever made appearances, zipping around the headquarters doing their best to clean up the residue of the chaos.

However, it wasn’t just the building itself that was in disorder- dozens and dozens of Spider-People had resigned after the chase. Most left because they didn’t agree with Miguel’s way of dealing with Miles. Others had disagreements with other Spider-People, on both sides: those who chased Miles and those who didn’t. Many left simply because they didn’t want to deal with the chaos and how quickly the Society had been devolving since the event. Nothing was organized or stable; tensions were high. There was a painfully obvious shift in the atmosphere; something was brewing beneath the surface.

But even amidst the mayhem, Spider-Byte had remained calm. She had been one of the few at the Spider-Society who hadn’t participated in the chase, and she certainly didn’t regret it. Some had even praised her for her lack of involvement. She didn’t lose any relationships, and her technology, by far the most adept and efficient technology used in the Spider-Society, was still intact and operating. She was essentially in the eye of the hurricane, havoc raging around her, but she remained at peace.

So Margo was surprised when, as she was sitting in her workplace at headquarters updating a computer of hers, her watch went off. Startling her from her reverie, she sat up, seeing that it was a call from… Miguel?

Her eyes narrowed a little. That was unusual. Besides Jess Drew, the head of the Spider-Society rarely ever called anybody personally, and least of all any of the teenage Spider-People. Miguel was rather strict about maintaining professionalism, so he usually had LYLA appear as a hologram to whoever he wanted to contact with his message. But no, it was his contact on the small screen of the watch.

Margo, still frowning a little, picked up the call.

“Hello-“

“Spider-Byte. I want you in my office. Now.” And Miguel’s tiny hologram vanished.

“What-“ Margo was both stunned and slightly peeved. She hadn’t even gotten out a greeting. But she knew better than to go against Miguel’s orders. The man had always been intimidating and uptight, and very work-oriented, but these past few days he seemed more distant than ever. He was scarcely seen around headquarters anymore, as he spent much of his time searching for Miles, and on the rare occasions he did make an appearance, he was downright unapproachable- his face contorted into a deeper frown than ever and his eyes were lined with dark circles and bags. Some days it felt like he wasn’t all there.

Margo glanced over at the computer she’d been working on and stood up from her chair. Gradually her slight annoyance at being interrupted so rudely during her work began to dissipate; presently she began to feel a little apprehensive as her luminescent blue avatar maneuvered itself smoothly through the halls. Miguel had not sounded at all pleased on the call, which was rare- although Miguel was not exactly amicable most of the time anyway, she was one of the few people he would be patient with because she was such an asset to the Society.

She phased through walls and skillfully avoided obstacles, digitally extending the limbs of her avatar and swinging from the ceilings as she made her way to Miguel’s office, moving quickly. It wasn’t long before Margo brought herself to the ground in the dimly lit area where Miguel stayed- sure enough, there he was, on the platform above her standing in front of his arsenal of screens.

He didn’t say anything as the platform that was his workspace slowly lowered itself down to the ground, and Margo stood there and waited awkwardly for it to come down- this always took a painfully long time. As Miguel got closer, though, Margo could see Lyla’s small yellow hologram beside Miguel, hovering just above his shoulder with an uncharacteristically uneasy look on her face. Margo glanced at her, brow furrowing, but neither said anything.

Now Miguel finally reached the ground. He turned around to face the girl with a dark expression, and she didn’t even have time to feel alarmed before he started in on her. “Did you let Miles get away?”

The question sent a jolt through Margo’s body, and she immediately went on the defensive. “‘Did I let Miles get away?’ How would I even have done that? I wasn’t even involved in that whole chase,” she protested.

“And why is that, I wonder?” Miguel countered demandingly, taking a single step forward but prompting Margo to take several steps back. “Did I not tell all of the Spider-People to go after him?” His voice was a low, menacing tone, and his body looked stiff and tense, as if he was trying to contain himself.

Margo momentarily found herself at a loss, and she scrambled to come up with some sort of explanation. “I was already taking care of something else,” she countered. “You know how my Go-Home machine been… acting up lately.”

“Really?” It didn’t sound as much like a question than it did an accusation. “The same Go-Home machine that conveniently worked when Miles escaped from this dimension?!” With every word his volume increased and so did his anger, and Margo noticeably winced. But still she had to defend herself somehow.

“The machine activated itself. I- I don’t know what happened,” Margo retorted, throwing her arms in the air.

“I can vouch for that one,” Lyla interjected, disappearing from Miguel’s shoulder and reappearing in between Margo and Miguel, like she was trying to break up a fight. “She wasn’t the one that did that. The machine was pressing its own buttons and going all crazy. We both tried to stop it, but it’s obviously very difficult to stop that thing when it gets going.” Lyla didn’t sound too happy, and Margo didn’t know whether it was because of her or Miguel.

Miguel cast his eyes at Lyla in such a beseeching manner that she glitched over back to his side and said nothing else, her expression tight and tense with displeasure. He directed his glare back at Margo, who met it with almost equal intensity and defiance. Despite this, his tone was slightly calmer when he spoke again, but still anger bubbled beneath the surface.

“Alright. You insist on playing that card? Fine.” Miguel turned around, then again, a huffy sigh that was more of a groan leaving him as he paced, a clear indication of his agitation. “Do you remember, Margo, something that happened a few weeks ago?” Margo tilted her head in mild confusion and frowned, prompting Miguel to explain further. “Peter. Peter B., the numbskull who runs around with a pink bathrobe and a baby. He brought her to headquarters like he usually does. I don’t know how, but somehow it happened that Mayday got away from him. And one way or another, she wound up in that Go-Home machine.”

Margo’s expression became a little less puzzled and she nodded as she remembered the incident, but still she wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Nonetheless, she said nothing and let him continue.

“Yeah. Peter was an idiot to give her a web-shooter.” Miguel’s tone was scornful. “Before he could make it to Mayday, the machine started activating after scanning her DNA and determining what dimension to send her back to. It was more than halfway through the process, and the machine was moments away from throwing the baby full force into her home dimension, but you realized what was going on. Luckily, you raced over and were able to stop the machine right before it sent her away.” Miguel’s voice grew slightly lower, and again he advanced towards Margo. “Peter ran over, got the kid, and thanked you I don’t know how many times. That was when you explained to him that there was one function of the machine that could stop it quickly no matter what stage of the process it was in. You showed it to him and said to keep it in mind if anything like this happened again.”

This time, Margo didn’t even notice how close Miguel had gotten, his looming height towering over her. Her eyes were lowered to the ground, her expression gone flat. She knew exactly what Miguel was getting at now.

“That machine was just fine.”

The tension in the room was so thick one could have cut it with a knife. You could hear a pin drop in the icy silence.

Miguel continued on, his tone dry. “And I saw you. You probably didn’t think I did, since I was obviously occupied with the anomaly. But the good thing about being a Spider-Person is that your senses are enhanced. You’re aware of more than one thing at once. And I saw him look at you. I saw you meet his eyes.”

Margo had nothing to say. Her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach. She felt her breath escape her the more he went on. She pressed her lips together and averted her eyes.

“I know you could have stopped him. But you didn’t.”

Margo was unmoving. Every muscle in her body was tense. She was found out. And she didn’t know yet what the consequences of that would be, but she figured she wouldn’t take them without a fight.

Her expression hardened, and she abruptly looked up. And honestly, it took a lot for her not to automatically look back down; Miguel’s countenance was so formidable. But she pressed on, and without thinking as much as she probably should have, Margo retorted:

“And what would you have done if I hadn’t let him go?!” Her own tone startled her, she was usually laidback and really didn’t argue with people; but that by no means meant that she couldn’t stand up for herself or her beliefs. Her eyes were wide with passion and frustration as she met Miguel’s glare.

“I would have contained the anomaly!” Miguel snapped. His tone wasn’t calm anymore.

“You would have hurt him,” Margo shot back.

“I gave Miles every last opportunity to come with me peacefully. I gave him the courtesy of carefully explaining to him what was going to happen to his father and why. Did anyone else get that privilege? Did you get that privilege?”

That last question abruptly sent a sharp pain through Margo’s chest somehow, despite her virtual form. Miguel noticed her grimace, and instantly jumped on it.

“No. No, you didn’t. Everybody else had to sit there and let that happen. That kid should be thankful. And yet he still decided to make things hard for himself. I had no choice.”

Somehow, Margo felt like she was pleading more than arguing at this point. “He was bleeding when he looked at me!”

Miguel’s face was eerily cold when she said that; not a hint of remorse could be seen on his face. “There are consequences to disobedience. Just like there are consequences to defying the canon.”

“That- that doesn’t even have anything to do with it!” She could feel her composure slipping away. “That’s exactly why I couldn’t let him go. If the canon is really so final, he’ll find that out for himself. He’ll either lose his dad or his whole dimension. Does that make you happy now?”

Miguel threw his arms in the air in exasperation and annoyance. “Fine. You let him go. That was the right thing to do according to you? Because you’re so worried about what I would do to him?” Something in his tone was terribly condescending. “Now he’ll go and save his dad, like he wanted to. That’s great, right? That’s what you want? Now a whole dimension is going to pay for his actions. Which is the opposite of what this entire Society was even formed for.” He turned around and leaned over onto his desk, dropping his head into his hands in frustration.

Margo looked at Miguel’s slumped form with stone defiance. “I couldn’t let you hurt him. I’m sorry.”

Miguel had stood back up. His face was less angry. But he looked cold and remote as he stared down at the girl. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Finally Miguel spoke again. His tone was more controlled, and he wasn’t yelling like he was before. He let out a sigh. “Give me your watch.”

Margo started. “What?”

Miguel didn’t repeat himself. He simply held out his hand.

Margo’s eyes widened, and she felt her heart start beating a mile a minute. “My- my watch-? But- what-“

Miguel held up a hand to stop her, blowing air from his lips in an exasperated sigh. “Relax. I’m- I’m not kicking you out. You’re too much of an asset.” His expression hardened. “And you’re lucky I’m not. It is in no way your place to argue with me the way you just did, especially about that.”

Margo dropped her head to allow herself a brief eye roll.

“But you are on probation. I’m locking your watch for a week.”

Margo knew she should probably be grateful that that was the only consequence she was getting, but nevertheless a bitter taste came into her mouth, and she frowned. “Locking?”

“You won’t be able to travel between dimensions or contact anybody from the Spider-Society besides me. Additionally, when your watch is locked, you’ll start glitching again.”

“Go home,” Miguel continued in a stern tone of voice. “When your probation is up, I’ll have Lyla unlock your watch for you.” Again he extended his hand, and not having any more energy to protest, Margo took the watch off her wrist with a ferocity she hadn’t intended, and placed it in Miguel’s open hand.

Miguel took the watch. “Lyla. You know what to do.”

Lyla, who had vanished during Margo and Miguel’s argument, reappeared in a flash of yellow at Miguel’s side. “Working on it… alright. The watch is locked.” She cast an apologetic look at Margo, but Margo averted her eyes.

Miguel loosely tossed the watch back to her, and Margo took it and slowly put it back on her wrist. Miguel gave her one last long, unreadable look, and turned around with another heavy sigh. He said nothing else, and Margo left feeling somewhat heavy.

She had just made it back to her work area when the glitching started. That was something she hadn’t dealt with in a while- she’d forgotten what the consequences of being in another dimension without the watch were, especially in her virtual form. As a result, the pain was fresher than ever, and when she fell to the ground she just stayed there for a moment, even after the glitching stopped.

“You always want to start some sort of argument with me!”

“Because you don’t listen…”

Margo rolled over in her bed and pulled the pillow down even more tightly over her ears. Without the watch’s functions she could no longer escape the constant, incessant fighting of her parents. God, she wished they’d just get a divorce already.

Home, sweet home.

It had been several hours since Miguel had made Margo go home, and she already knew this week would feel more like a century. Her head was already pounding because of the shouting of her mother and father. She had tried to play video games for a little while, but she quickly became bored, and then she’d tried to just go to sleep and look where that ended up.

Despite all this, Margo didn’t regret what she had done for Miles. Maybe she should have, because she did respect Miguel and she knew she had a duty to the Spider-Society. But all of that had vanished the second he made eye contact with her- his shiny eyes wide with desperation; he said nothing but she could hear him pleading. And the way Miguel had been almost animalistic when he was tearing at the containment field blocking him from Miles, eyes bloodshot and fangs bared. Even from the distance she was at, Margo could see the bruises on Miles’ skin, the blood running down, and the jagged tears in his suit undoubtedly made by Miguel’s talons. She knew she had done the right thing by letting him escape. It chilled her to think what would have happened if she hadn’t.

Margo must have fallen asleep at some point eventually because when she awoke, it was dark outside and she could no longer hear her parents screaming. She blinked back sleep and groggily surveyed her surroundings- her monitor was still running, her game idle, the low hum of all the devices and gadgets in the room droning on, and-

“Lyla!”

Margo sat up with a start, jolting with surprise. Before her, hovering at the foot of her bed, was Lyla’s little yellow hologram.

Lyla glanced up at Margo nonchalantly, like this was just something she did every day. She teleported in front of Margo’s face, and the girl backed away slightly. “Hey.”

Margo was half-asleep and still totally confused. “Lyla? But- what you- does Miguel know you-“

Lyla waved Margo off, blowing a strand of pixelated hair from her face. “Let me see your watch.”

Margo frowned. “Why? It’s useless.”

“Just give it to me.”

Blinking, Margo slipped the watch from her wrist and placed it before Lyla. She didn’t exactly know what Lyla was doing as the AI murmured to herself, teleporting several different times around the watch, but suddenly the formerly darkened device had lit up again, a chime sounding from it as its screen lit up.

Lyla nodded, more to herself than Margo. “Your watch is unlocked.”

“It’s- what?” Margo looked disbelievingly from Lyla to the glowing watch, then back at Lyla. Wordlessly she took it, fiddling with its functions; it was fully restored. Questioningly she glanced up at Lyla, who held up a hand before she could say anything.

“Obviously you can’t just show up at the Society or Miguel will notice you, so I’m not sure how useful this thing will be till your probation is up. But you’ll be able to contact other Spider-People, and travel to other dimensions again without glitching. Clearly you’ve been thinking about that Miles guy, so I guess you’ll be wanting to look for him.”

Margo laughed a little sheepishly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Oh, yeah- um. Miguel doesn’t know I came here, so it’d be great if you didn’t tell him I was here.” Lyla gave Margo a slightly mischievous smirk.

Margo nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You got it.”

“Great! See you around.” Lyla gave her a brief wave before vanishing.

Margo stared at the empty space Lyla had left for a moment with the ghost of a smile on her face. After her argument with Miguel and her punishment she hadn’t felt good at all about the whole situation with Miles, but now she was thinking that perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.

Her smile grew bigger as she sat up and took the watch, slapping it onto her wrist.

There was a job to do.

[littlemisslipbalm]

Demonology: Me & My Dog

Series Summary: A new demon has come to Nashville. Josh and Jake's ways of life have been thrown off by her arrival. The angel and demon have lived with an understanding of one another, but with Y/N stirring up trouble and asking questions, they're forced to work out a new normal. And why is she so powerful for a human turned demon anyway, that's unusual, right?

Jake Kiszka x f!reader and Josh Kiszka x f!reader

A/N: This will be at least three parts! This first part is more about Josh and the reader, the second will be more Jake and then we will see with part 3 what is to happen. Please let me know what you think with comments and reblogs and messages to my inbox!! I want to talk about this bc I have been so excited to share it!!

Word Count: 5.4k | Warnings: alcohol consumption, strong language, allusions to sex - minor descriptions of sex but not descriptive smut (still 18+!!), dubious comprehension of angel/demon mythology, like this is fiction fr so if it does not make sense i am sorry but idc (but am also open to suggestions thx)

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Part 1: My & My Dog

When being told to stir up some trouble on Earth, Y/N was more annoyed that she had to go back at all than excited that she was moving up in the ranks. Afterall, she’d only died 50 years ago. It was already time to go back? She thought she had eternity down here. 

From what she’d heard from other members of the underworld, it’d just gotten worse since she’d left. Prior to 1976 had been a riot for her (1976 was not her favorite, but dying usually wasn’t in people’s top ten greatest moments), but now it sounds worse than Hell itself.  

Still, like a good little demon soldier, she trudged through the dim back rooms to find the dull office that would provide her with the necessary documents to take a corporeal form and inhabit the physical sphere for an extended period of time. 

“Can I bring my dog?” She asks, kicking at a piece of garbage on the floor. It littered the entire ground around her feet. 

“Dog?” The servant of hell inquired. 

“Chupacabra,” She corrects.

“Sure,” Their eyes raise from filling out the paperwork to the little animal beside her. “Extra form you need to both sign. Says he’ll suck the blood of at least five animals per earthly week while he’s there. We don’t do ESAs here.”  

“Fab,” She sighed in relief and scratched behind the ears of her dog that she had re-encountered shortly after arriving in Hell. 

The chupacabra placed his paw in some mysterious blood that had formed in the pewter catch-all dish sitting beside the papers and then pushed it onto the form. Signed, sealed and soon to be delivered. They were getting out of Hell. 

-

When she materialized on Earth, she wasn’t sure where she was exactly. The home office didn’t give that information, you just had to figure it out yourself. She had been hoping for her hometown of Los Angeles or another major city center she’d never been to before. Maybe London or Tokyo would be a fun change of pace. 

After walking what felt like 20 miles, but was probably half of that given that she wasn’t used to physical legs anymore, she came upon a sign as to where she was. A mural to be exact. 

It had only been woods and fields for the first half, but then there were more buildings. Coffee shops, bagel shops and something that was called a ‘Vape’ shops. Everything advertised themselves as historic music sites. But it wasn’t until 1504 Demonbreun St. that she fully ascertained she was in the heart of Nashville, Tennessee. 

“Welcome to Nashville”

“Fuck yeah,” She smiled. A friend back in the day had been from here and told her about it a few times. It wasn’t a major capital city or home, but it was a city alright. And where there was nightlife, she was sure there could be trouble. 

She spent the rest of the day checking around her surroundings. Finding the place Hell had given her to lodge in. It wasn’t much but she remembered earthly delights and planned to spruce it up, give it a vibe. She wrote a note on the wall with a deep red pen she had brought with her a list of items she needed. Couch, rug, bed, posters, an electric guitar and lots of wine and clothes. The ink dripped down the wall and she smiled, swiping at it and placing it to her lips. 

She passed the rest of the daylight hours with great displeasure for the living people around her who barely seemed to notice her. Not that she looked any different than them, but it just bothered her that no one was as friendly as when she’d last been here. No one bothered to say ‘hello’, all they did was stare or talk into their rectangular devices she had realized were portable telephones half way through the day. 

Broadway St. seemed to be the place Y/N thought she’d find the most possible trouble. It was lit up like the Sunset and if it weren’t for all the horribly dressed people surrounding her, she would’ve felt right at home. 

At one of the bars, she got free shots from the bartender with a flash of her eyes. From the regular dark brown iris, they flashed an entire eternal glassy black. He smiled dreamily in the abyss and walked away after she winked at him. She swung back the shots and made her way to the dance floor. 

Raising her hands above her head, she began to dance. Her black lace dress hugged her curves and shifted with her. Her silver jewelry glinted dangerously as she moved. The lights in the bar shifted to stay red instead of the flashing multi-colors that had bothered her when she entered. She moved her hips to the music and slowly it transformed from a poppy song she didn’t know to Led Zeppelin. 

Robert Plant’s voice got everyone dancing the way they should and the vapes transformed into cigarettes and she smiled to herself feeling alive for the first time in a long time. Maybe being back wasn’t so bad. She drank more and danced more and saw people getting drunk and making out in corners and thought debauchery worked as trouble. Job done for the day. 

She relaxed into the sway of the music, writhing around like a snake as her skin grew dewey with perspiration. A tug at her arm brought her out of her euphoric state. All night she had made sure no one would bother her, but whoever this was didn’t seem to follow her rules. 

She opened her eyes, fully black once more as she stared at who was holding her wrist. She tugged back but his hold was secure. He pulled her to the side of the dancefloor, a space conveniently opening up. 

“Get your hands off me! What the fuck, man?”

“You can’t be here,” He spoke calmly. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He had on a white plain t-shirt and light wash jeans, with opalescent beads hanging around his neck. His eyes were an oddly familiar light brown. His hair was shaved on the sides, creating a sort of mullet that she mildly appreciated if he hadn’t been so rude as to pull her away from her fun. That mullet exposed the golden earrings in his pointy ears. 

There was something different about him. None of it was in his physical form but she felt it, vibrating and extending around him. As if he had invisible light passing around and through him even in the dark dingy bar lighting. 

“Says who?” She finally tugged her arm free from his hold and crossed her arms across her chest, pressing her breasts up in the process. 

His eyes flicker to the movement before pressing his lips into a thin line “Says me.” 

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “And you are?” 

“Joshua. I protect this town," he says. He wrings his hands around the gold bracelets on his wrists. “You can’t come into these bars and just mess with everything about them. It’s wrong.” 

“Yes I can, Josh,” She smirks. “I’m a demon as you clearly already can tell. I can do whatever I want.” 

“Oh my God,” Josh sighs, exasperated already. “There’s already a demon here.” He knew the other one quite well and was at least able to keep him in check. A newcomer would mean more work. 

She shrugged. “Not my problem, angel. Hell sent me up here, guess they’re not happy with the other one’s performance.” 

She moved to go back to the bar for another drink when Josh looked like he was a million miles away. He’d really killed her buzz. Josh’s mentioning of another demon made her stop and ask as an afterthought: “What’s this other demon’s name?” 

“Jacob–er, uh, Jake,” Josh corrects himself. He hadn’t gone by Jacob since, well, since before, even if Josh wished he could just call him Jacob. 

“Groovy.” Her smile is wicked, her lips painted a red so deep it resembled dried blood. “Displeasure meeting you, angel. Come find me if you ever want to have a real good time.” She kissed his cheek before disappearing behind a group of people. 

-

Two weeks later, Y/N was seated on a bench in the park with her legs kicked up. She looked like she was a dead body–which more or less, she was, but the way she was sitting was unusual for someone who was supposedly alive. Her dog was perched unnaturally along the backrest, soaking in the sun he had missed. They looked out of place. 

She had come out in the midday to see if she could start any fights in the park. She’d quickly learned that malfunctions with their little handheld phones really upset the modern humans so she liked to mess with wifi and electrical connections every odd day or so just to keep up the no-good work. 

Her black RayBans covered her eyes as they surveyed the green grass for potential targets for a bit of a row. She sat as far away from the people as possible, so she had enhanced her vision as if using a zoom function. But soon something white blocked her vision. 

“Angel,” She practically growled. Her dog actually growled, sitting up. 

“Mind if I sit,” Josh asks pleasantly, eyeing the dog with caution. It looked like a normal dog, but a clip in his right ear and a strange red shimmer in his eyes made Josh think there might be something hellish about him. 

She took her feet off the bench and pushed her sunglasses up off of her face. “Finally want a taste of what you’re missing?” 

“No,” he states flatly. His eyes were still wandering between the creature and the demon. She was dressed in all black, typical. The dog was between cream and the lightest brown he’d ever seen, atypical. “Is this your dog?” 

“Yeah.” She smiles softly for the first time. Her hand goes to pet him between his ears and down his small snout. “He was waiting for me in Hell back’n the day. They made him a chupacabra for me as a ‘Welcome to Hell’ present.” 

Josh’s eyes widened in surprise. What had she done in life to receive a present in Hell? “They like you down there?” 

“Eh…I think I’m just a descendant of many a troublemaker. They knew I’d be an asset, especially when I arrived so early.” 

Her dog slipped into her lap. For a moment, he shifted as he stared at Josh. Big ruby eyes glowered at him, all his hair was gone, leaving something more resembling a pale soft dog-rat. Disturbing and wretched, nonetheless. He wrinkled his nose at Josh. 

Josh tried to smile, feeling awkward. Jake had insisted he find this demon Josh had encountered, needing more information about whether he was really in trouble or if it was procedural. Why Jake wouldn’t do it himself, Josh never got as many answers as questions he asked. 

“Do either of you have names?” 

She grinned. “Is this twenty questions? Why so interested in me?” 

“Just want to get to know my opposition,” Josh says lightly, praying for her to feel extra kind today. Afterall, she was a demon who was originally human and it was only a little while ago from what she seemed to like. He was pretty sure she’d only been down in Hell for 50-60 years, that was barely a human lifetime—and yet it was longer than hers. Far less than Jake. Maybe he could neutralize her, get her to see the bright side. 

“His name is Rune, now, but it used to be Rori.” She rubs over the dog’s hair, happy that he was softer on Earth. “He responds to both–for me. Not sure what he should be called now we’re back.” 

Josh waited patiently. The breeze was cooler than usual and looking at her, he had to assume it was her as well. She seemed far too powerful for a run-of-the-mill demon who used to be human. But she also seemed extremely unlikely to answer his questions if he got too personal. 

With her eyes uncovered, Josh watched them move around as she thought about something. It was almost like she was tracking something or doing some long form math equation in her head. Like she didn’t know what her name was and was looking for the answer. 

“Mine…well, now you can call me Sal.” She winks and Josh straightens in his seat, feeling strange. “Gonna write about me in your diary now, Joshua?” 

Josh pretends to laugh with a clipped “ha ha.” She smirked again, sliding closer to Josh on the bench. Rori grew annoyed and hopped off her lap, slinking off to climb a tree in hopes of finding a squirrel. Sal extended a delicate hand to Josh’s shoulder, beginning to play with the fabric of his shirt. He smiled tightly, not having anywhere to go if he wanted more answers. 

“You said you arrived early?” Josh’s voice is high as he feels her touch moving down his arm. Thankfully, being an angel kept him from feeling her entire influence, but her physical touch was enough to feel something…unholy. He didn’t want to imagine her abilities on mortals. “What did you mean?” 

“You’re fun,” She beamed. “If I show you some tricks I picked up in Hell, will you show me something?” 

“It depends what you want to see,” Josh tries to be diplomatic. 

Her head throws back in laughter. “Not that. No, I want you to want me to see that.” Her hand wanders to his wrist and toys with the bracelet before slinking to his thigh. Her voice was low and sultry, lips pressed to his ear. “Desperately.” 

Josh was starting to feel like he might have to leave. His breathing had turned shallow and he couldn’t stop staring at the carnelian stone hanging between her breasts. Her hand’s touch left him and she laughed again bringing him out of his reverie. 

“Hell, you’re pretty cute…I was a 27 club member.” She shrugged, turning away from Josh to stare out at the people again. “Had my heyday in the late 60s/early 70s and went out the same way I lived. Fast.” 

Josh thought about the 60s and the 70s. He’d admit those decades were a bit of a guilty pleasure for him. Nashville had been fun, not as crowded. He watched her again, seeing her eyes narrow looking at the couples and the groups of friends. 

“You weren’t from here?” 

“LA. Broadway’s kinda like the Sunset Strip, just a bit more loser-y…NashVegas, just like Liv said.” 

Josh was about to protest, but refrained, letting her reminisce. She did miss her friends from back then. They’d gotten up to so much trouble. Sometimes too much. 

“Best of times, worst of times kind of thing y’a dig?” She tapped the heel of her boot like she was trying to shake off something unpleasant. “Just glad I had my dog for most of the time. He followed me everywhere and everyone’d let ‘im in because he was such a doll. Died ‘bout three years ‘fore me.”

The more she spoke the more her accent of a bygone era of California popped up. Josh couldn’t deny how sweet she sounded when she spoke about that thing, demonic as the pair of them were. 

“How long’ve you’ve been up–er, down here?” She asked, barely realizing she had to correct for him. 

Josh cast his eyes to the sky, thinking. “Since the beginning. That’s like, 8000 human years, I believe.” 

“Get the fuck outta town!” She exclaimed, jumping in her seat to face him. Her eyes were alight with hellfire. “You’re a proper angel then?” 

Josh chuckled. “They don’t really take new hires upstairs, I’m afraid. Only very special occasions. It doesn’t happen much these days.” 

She regarded him for a moment, inventorizing him again now that she deemed him far more interesting than before. “Yeah, I was on a special list when I came down. Only a few others in my line, everyone else had to wait in this huge waiting room. It was…repulsive and I’ve been in the alley behind the Whisky.” 

Josh tilted his head, looking over her once more. He felt like he should know her, but he couldn’t understand from where. She looked so familiar. Her hair seemed to shift every so often and he couldn’t be sure if it was the light or mood dependent. He didn’t prod at her mentioning the special treatment in Hell, didn’t want to alert her to the fact, that from what he knew, that was extremely rare.

“Have you told your demon friend about me yet?” She asked.

“He’s not my friend,” Josh responds automatically. 

Her eyebrows raise as she turns her head back to him, scanning him for understanding. A killer upon its prey. 

“Secret lover?” She guesses. 

Josh can’t hide his face of disgust. “Jesus! No!”

“Homophobic?” She asks with a look of distaste. Not being for the gays was so not groovy. Half the musicians she hung out with back in the day were gay. And she wasn’t one for choosing when it came to sexuality. 

“No!” Josh cries. “I am more than an ally to that cause, not that angels really have sexualities…it’s just.” He sighs, rubbing at his neck confusion. “He was, is–I don’t know, my twin.” 

“Oh!” She beams, eyes once again lighting up in intrigue. She enjoyed learning things, it helped for using it against people at the end of the day. “So he’s also a proper demon. Fell and all that.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” He sounded pained, as if he was reliving the entire thing. 

“Wow…” She blows out a breath. “That must be funky.” 

She continued when Josh said nothing. “Y’know ‘cause he’s your brother but also he’s–” She finished her statement by sticking her pointer fingers through her hair and wiggling them around. 

“Yes, I am aware.” Josh shakes his head. 

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head, revealing her stomach below the flowy lace top she was wearing. “Great catch up, I guess, angel. Wanna trade tricks later? I’ve already worked through most of the main bars here and I’m getting bored.” Nothing was keeping her interest, since every place she had to transform into her liking. 

“You want to hang out with me? You want to hang out with an angel?” 

She grinned, turning around herself once before dropping her arms and stalking back towards Josh, standing directly in front of him. She leaned over him, watching him straighten his neck and swallow thickly. His eyes flickered from her face to the carnelian again. 

“Everyone else is too easy around here. I need a challenge.” Her lips were right in front of his. “You seem like the perfect remedy for a wayward soul like me.” 

-

Josh wasn’t exactly sure why he agreed to meet the demon at some speakeasy she said she needed to try. He wasn’t fully sold on calling her ‘Sal’, something about it felt off to him. She didn’t even really seem to care for it either. Jake, he knew, was vehement that he wished to be called Jake. 

Jake was probably why he had come to the back door of a pizza joint that was actually the door to the underground speakeasy. He’d asked for more information on her. When Josh had inquired why Jake couldn’t just do it himself, his twin finally fessed up that he was actually not currently in Nashville at all. Leaving the heavy lifting to Josh, like always. 

Begrudgingly, Josh entered another bar with plans to meet a demon. Heaven forgive him. It was smokey inside the brick-walled cavern. Small candles lit the tabletops and narrow bar top. A small dance floor was packed as people danced slowly to a jazz band. In the corner of the room, he saw her hair almost glowing in the dark and he made his way over. 

She was dressed in a black pantsuit, with no undershirt, just a black lace bra and her same necklace. Rori wasn’t present, from what Josh could see, but based on their conversation earlier he had a feeling the demon dog was around, lurking. 

She groaned when she saw what Josh was wearing. 

“Angel, man, do you have any other clothes besides that?” She shook her head in disappointment. 

“Of course I do,” Josh huffed, looking down at his clothes not understanding what was wrong with them. 

“Change.”

“I can’t perform miracles just to change my outfit. That’s wrong.” 

“That’s wrong, it’s wrong,” She parrots what she thought was becoming Josh’s mantra. “God, Heaven sounds so stifling.” She rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers with impatience.

In an instant, Josh was dressed in a red velvet jumpsuit with sequins around the neckline. His arms were on full display, muscles bulging while the velvet hugged his torso and lengthened his height. He smooths at his hair and feels something come off his skin. On his hand, he sees glitter. He looks at her again and then down at his new clothes. She was eyeing the bulge veering to his right thigh. 

“Much better.” She grins. 

Josh rolls his hand in front of him quickly, almost like a benediction, and once again his outfit has changed. Now, he was in a cream and grey jumpsuit that was far less flashy of his own with his favorite sigil emblazoned on the chest. He left the glitter and sat down. 

Her unamused look makes Josh feel a little hot with shame. 

“A little miracle to make sure I don’t look like a demon can be forgiven.” 

“You looked foxy but whatever.” She rolls her eyes and flicks a hand at the table, producing a bottle of red wine for both of them. “You drink, surely. C’mon, don’t act like your demon brother hasn’t corrupted a few of those precious angel feathers.” 

Josh can’t help the smile that falls over his face. Not sure what was so endearing about her at this moment. The romantic jazz might have something to do with it. He loved jazz. He takes the drink gratefully and they sip in companionable silence. She was subdued. 

With one bottle down, they start a second and this is when she offers to show Josh a trick if he’ll show her something again. He shrugs in compliance, feeling well on his way to drunk. 

“But won’t the other people in here see?” He adds. 

“No, they all know to mind their own business. Plus, it’s dark in here.” She winks and suddenly Josh is staring at only her head. 

He can seriously only see her head and neck. She moves closer to him and now Josh is certain, she’s made her body disappear. She was a dishonest-to-god floating head. Her head glowed gold for a moment as she twirled in a complete 360 to really show herself off. Josh’s eyes were as wide as possible trying not to cry out in amazement. Then the rest of her body reappeared, straddling Josh’s lap. With her arms draped over his shoulder, her all black soulless eyes gazed into Josh’s, practically paralyzing him with her fiery warmth and intensity. 

“So what do you think, angel?” 

“I, uh,” Josh stuttered. He placed his hands firmly on her hips and moved her off of him. “That’s impressive. What’s it good for?” 

“S just fun,” She shrugged, undetered by Josh removing her from his lap. “Let’s dance and then you can show me your wings or something.” 

Josh didn’t have time to protest, as she grabbed his wrist with one hand and their second bottle of pinot noir in the other. 

She took a swig before letting it float in the air beside them. Her body swiveled around the dance floor, placing herself in Josh’s arms as he swayed respectfully. She sighed and sunk into the movement, drinking from the bottle every so often. When the song changed, she turned to face Josh, handing the wine to him. He drank obediently, which she felt was a triumph. 

Hands draped over his shoulders again, she pressed her body against his. He was strong, she could feel his toned stomach. Her regular eyes met his and she tipped her nose against his. He looked stoicly back at her, determined to be friendly but not fall into the trap she was so clearly laying for him. 

“You’ve got so many defenses up,” She whispers. “Why not do what you want for once? Loosen up. Indulge.” 

Josh smiles down at her and moves his lips to her ear. Polite as ever, he speaks soothingly. “I am having a lovely time with you, Sal.”

She groans, pressing his hands to her hips again, where the curve of her ass was. “I can gaurantee you’ve never had what I’m offering you…” 

Josh smiles knowingly, unconvinced. “I’m afraid I’m above your temptations. Is seduction your main area of expertise?” 

She glares at him, but there’s a glint in her eye. She loved the chase. The difficulty. 

“Debauchery in general, but with how many people wanted to have sex with me in my first life I have a specialization in seduction and desire.” 

He shrugs, moving his hands to a respectful place on her waist. His touch is light, but she feels the pressure of his thumbs pushing at the exposed skin. She smirks and snakes her lips up to his ear. 

The gold hoop glints and she flicks her tongue over it. “I could just show you what you’re missing. If you’d allow me to put it in your mind, we wouldn’t actually do it. You’d be in complete control. Halo intact. C’mon just a few images…it’ll be informative.” 

Josh sighs as the tug of her teeth on his earring. She was bad. Terribly good at her job. He understood why she was here. Jake wasn’t even in town. Damn him. If he did his job a little better, Josh wouldn’t be contemplating allowing a demon into even a small recess of his mind. But, Jesus, did he want to just see it. If it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really a sin to indulge. 

She stares at him, waiting for his response. Her hands run over his shoulders and chest. The music swells and Josh’s hands tighten on her waist as he looks up to the ceiling, praying for forgiveness. 

“For educational purposes,” He starts and she grins. “I will allow you to show me how you do your job. So that I may be able to thwart your wrongdoings better.” 

“It’s just a little sex,” She licks her lips. “Igniting passion in people makes more babies for you to teach heavenly values or whatever. God likes sex, Josh.” Her voice is sickening, it was like she was dripping in a delicious scent that Josh can’t get out of his head. Twisting his values and her intentions into something evil that somehow made wicked sense.

He’s been careful to only open up a small piece he knows he can close, but he almost loses his footing when he finally feels her stinging lips on his. She licks into his mouth and he’s about to protest before the images begin to flow through his mind. 

‘Good thing your brother doesn’t have to transfer information like this, huh?’ Sal says within Josh’s mind. 

Guiltily, he feels himself laughing. Though his physical body is still locking lips with her. 

The room she brings him to in his mind is dark, a red lamp in the corner where two bodies are rolling around. Sighs of ecstasy filling his ears. The smell of sex hanging in his nose.

‘You’re really missing out, angel. Could show you the best thing life, and death, has to offer.’ Her voice is softer in his mind. 

The scene changes. He’s staring up at her above him. Her hips are working over him steadily as her naked breasts bounce in front of him, her necklace is the glowing light now. Her voice is sinful as she moans praises for Josh. How good he feels, how big he is, how strong he is. The scene changes and he’s driving into her with her legs over his shoulders, she’s smiling sweetly up at him with her mouth open, repeating his name like a prayer. It shifts and she’s pressed face down in the grey silk pillows, her body spread out for him as he grunts and growls, thrusting ceremoniously into her as she screams for him to keep going. It’s melodic, every bodily sound and the scene of their physical bodies uniting is hypnotic. Like it was pre-ordained that he would fit so well inside her. He feels euphoric as it shifts once more. She is back on top, his hips press up into her as she grinds down. Their faces are pressed together as Josh holds her body close to him. Arms enveloping her fragile frame. The room is quiet as they are pressed skin to skin, her lips meeting his gently. Sharp gasps escape their trembling lips.

‘Okay, enough,’ Josh pushes away from the scene, feeling both aroused and confused. 

In the speakeasy, she pulls back from the kiss with a wipe of her lips. She runs her hands through her hair as she watches Josh. She had shown him every one of his fantasies, placing herself at the center of them. They weren’t particularly raunchy, it was all about connection to him and for once she didn’t tease. 

“I like you, Joshua,” She says, truthfully, allowing him to pull their bodies a little apart. 

He was flustered and confused and embarrassed, but he also didn’t want to run. She had kept her word, shown him a few things and left. He didn’t fully understand the words she had just spoken.

He shakes his head, an awkward smile on his lips there on accident, and she stares at him wistfully. 

“I haven’t had someone in my mind in a very long time.” 

“It’s okay,” She soothes. “You really are an angel. Maybe on this earthly plane for too long since you clearly have carnal desires, but they were sweet. Every man’s mind I’ve looked into had vile and cruel desires…” She paused, looking past Josh. “Even in my first life, all the men I knew wanted to hurt the women they supposedly loved.” 

Josh’s eyebrows shot up in shock. 

“The closest you got to dirty was having me in do–”

“Okay!” Josh cut her off. “I think it’s time to call it a night.” He turned and walked swiftly through the crowd, parting easily for him–definitely not a misuse of his miracles. 

“Fine,” She grinned wickedly and whistled for Rori, sauntering after Josh. 

Back on the street, it could’ve been daytime with all the lights compared to the speakeasy. She squinted her eyes in distaste, thriving in the dark and wishing she had brought her sunglasses.

Josh was turned away from her so she tapped on his shoulder, wanting his attention. Wanting to see him again. He turned slowly and the look on his cherubic face was troubled. She frowned, about to ask what got his wings in a twist. 

A shadow stepped into Josh’s light. His hair was long and messy, in need of a wash. His silver jewelry shined heavy on his tanned chest. His black button up was almost completely open exposing his torso and he held a wide-brimmed black hat loosely in one hand and a guitar case more carefully in the other. His eyes flashed yellow when he spotted Y/N.  

She straightened her posture under his gaze and gave him a defiant look. Rori growled, but stayed behind her legs. 

Jake ran his tongue over his bottom lip, taking in the woman shaped devil before him. “You must be the new demon in town.” 

She tilted her head at him and looked between Josh and Jake. “And you must be your brother’s keeper.” 

He took a menacing step closer, narrowing his eyes at his angel of a brother before returning his gaze to her. “Something like that. Now, farewell…or don’t, I don’t care.”

She opened her mouth to speak again but no sound came out. 

His eyes flashed again as he turned on his heel and said tersely, a command, “Josh.”

The pair disappeared into fog that had appeared as suddenly as the older demon along the nighttime sidewalk and then she watched it dissipate moments later, leaving no trace of the creatures. The men. The angel and the demon.

-

to be continued... join the taglist

[andreas-river]

Is there a possibility you could do something with ghost and the reader or y/n has Tourette’s, pretty please 🙏🏻 (you can make it depressing idc, love your work)

Simon "Ghost" Riley X GN!Reader

Words count: approx. 1k

Warnings: angst, fluff, tourette's syndrome, hurt/comfort, it can be read as gn!reader because of no body description.

Disclaimer: nothing at all, just this: never judge a book by its cover.

A/N: and here's your request! Sorry it took so long, but I wanted to make it good, these things are not easy and I wanted to make some researches too about this, I hope I met your expectations! And thank you <3

════════════════════

Living with Tourette Syndrome has never been easy: you were the outcast, the one who made people laugh, the class clown. Even being diagnosed with the disorder didn't help with the constant wave of strange looks, ignorant teachers, people who underestimated you, or even those who said you were faking a neurological disorder.

The only luck you had throughout your childhood, adolescence, and adulthood was your mother, who immediately mobilized to find the best doctors, neurologists, and therapists, despite the countless financial problems and the complicated life you were used to.

With time, your situation improved: the more aggressive tics were easier to manage with the help of doctors, and the most common ones were simply the turning of the neck and certain hand movements - clenching the knees with the hands, making them into fists, or simply raising them in the air.

But the real change came when you bumped into someone on your way home from work, but you never expected to be confronted by a man with a mask covering his face - except for his eyes. You quickly apologized and returned to your steps.

And from then on, you saw him everywhere: at the usual coffee shop you went to every morning, at the market in the center of town, and on the street every night when you came home from work. Involuntarily, he found his way to your heart, and when you began to think about trying to talk to him, you found yourself looking into his eyes again, wondering if he could sit at your table since everyone else was taken.

You had gladly accepted and from small, casual questions like "What's your name?", "Ghost, yours?", your conversations grew longer, curiosity grew, as did the eagerness to get to know someone so mysterious, who actually called himself "Ghost". Only after a few weeks did you learn the reason for his name, why he always seemed alert and had his face covered.

It was three? four o'clock in the morning maybe, when someone rang the door of your house, and when you found yourself in front of someone you knew but had never seen like that, you found out the truth about what Ghost was doing. An SAS soldier, one of the best. And there he was, standing in front of you and on your doorstep, asking you if he could take refuge at least for that night.

Since that night, something happened between you two: you don't know why, or how, but you found refuge in his presence, and even if you didn't know what he think, he felt the same as you.

It was during that night that you both talked about each other, sitting together on the couch, talking about Tourette's syndrome and how you had to deal with it since you were a kid, then telling you his job, that he kills people as a living, that he has only one family - his team, and how that night ended up at your house.

And when he thought that you were scared of him after he revealed who he was, he remained surprised at how you were smiling at him, totally unfazed by his words.

"You kill bad people." you said, while your body was constantly crossed by the tics.

He simply nods at you, surprised how you looked so natural, so calm even if he had to tell you the truth, carefully watching your body.

"How does it feel?" he asked, hoping you would understand what he was referring to.

"I'm lucky. It's not that bad, others with this syndrome experienced worse. But I'm getting better, people are helping me."

And he observed how you smiled all the time, realizing how he never stopped for a second, how he never thought about how others suffered, and sometimes it was because he overthinks too much, everything overwhelms his mind and his body, imprisoning him inside a cage, struggling to find a way out.

But you can't control what people think, realizing this every day of your life.

It happened again, you and Ghost were both outside, showing him where you used to go to school, even if the majority of the memories weren't the happiest: but you wanted to show him everything about you, the good and the bad, and even if he was holding your hand, he didn't care if you squeezed him tighter, or when you uncontrollably moved it.

He held you, never leaving your side even if people were eyeing you for your strange behavior.

"They don't understand, aren't they?" he suddenly says, his eyes fixed on the couple that was judging you from afar, making them squirm in their place from his menacing glance.

"No, they don't-"

"There's nothing wrong with you, you got it?" he interrupts you, now turning his full attention to you. "Let them swim in their ignorance, let them watch, let them say whatever they want. But you know. You have to remember, always," he gets closer, realizing only at that moment that he had lowered his mask from his face, showing himself for the first time. "That someone is here, with you."

You almost froze when he makes his lips touch yours, his lips softer that you expected, warmth spreading all over you at his delicate touch, appreciating you, loving you in a way that no one had ever done.

[theygotlost]

ok fuck it idc here it is. I wrote 90% of this at 3 am last week when I couldnt sleep. just a little thang I had to get out

Living Not in Vein

William realizes he has more in common with Otto than he thought.

G rated + 759 words

They found Otto crumpled in a heap on the cobbles of the Street of Cunning Artificers. The frames of his dark glasses lay scattered among a mess of his equipment, all stomped out of shape. He groaned when Sacharissa knelt down and turned him over.

"His skin is ice cold! That's bad, isn't it? Is he dying?"

"Er, I think he's always like that, Sacharissa."

"Oh. Right." 

Otto was struggling to sit up.

"What happened? Are you alright?" She knew it was a silly question.

"Some men," Otto mumbled, "five or six... I could have dealt with zhem if my hands vere not so full... and if zhey had not brought so much... garlic..." He reached up gently to touch his neck, and that was when William noticed the band of suspiciously garlic bulb-sized welts.

"Oh, Otto..." Sacharissa breathed.

"I vill be fine," Otto declared as the pair helped him shakily to his feet. He forced a befanged smile, but it was more of a grimace. "No vorries!"

Supporting his weight, the three began their trudge back toward Gleam Street.

"But this is a violent crime! We should report it to the Watch!" said Sacharissa.

"And write a story," suggested William.

"Zhere is no story," Otto sighed. "It is not ze first time. Or second. Or third. And it vill not be ze last. It is not news. Just olds."

An uncomfortable silence descended. Dog bites man, William recalled. Man attacks vampire.

"Do you know vhat ze vorst part of it is?" Otto added quietly.

"What?" asked Sacharissa, her throat drying up.

"Otto—"

Otto struggled to get out his next words. "Ze vorst part is vhen I feel ze... urges rising up inside... vhen I have to sing my songs just to keep from givink in... all I can zhink is... zhose men are right."

"I am a monster!" he snapped. "I am dangerous! Zhat is simply ze truth! Oh, sometimes being on ze vagon is so hard, so hard...." He buried his face in his hands.

"Then why do it?" William heard himself ask.

"William!" Sacharissa hissed.

Otto looked up in surprise. "Vhat do you mean?"

There was no stopping him now. "Why not be a blo— a B-word-sucking creature of the night, if that's your nature? Why not be true to yourself? All this effort to deny who you are, and what for?" It was a question that had been weighing on William's mind for quite a while.

Sure, joining the Temperance League was pretty much the only way a vampire could simmer acceptably in the Ankh-Morpork melting pot, but William failed to see what they got out of it. Back in Uberwald— at least it was said, his internal editor added— the most powerful vampires lived in castles with twisted black spires and lorded over villages of terrified peasants who sacrificed their crops, or their firstborns, or a steady supply of virgins, or whatever. He made a mental note to send a clacks inquiry to the office of Lady Margolotta later to do some fact-checking.

Otto looked hurt. "A vampire is vhat I am, not who I am," he said, as if William was stupid for missing something so obvious.

"The difference being?"

"Who am I? I am an iconographer. Capturing ze light and shadows, zhat is my craft, my purpose! It is everyzhing! It is vhy I came to Ankh-Morpork in ze first place, yes? Ze people back in Schüschein zhink I am stealink zheir souls vith my cursed magic box."

“I suppose that—”

“Who are you, Villiam? I ask you zhis. Do you say, 'I am ze son of Lord de Vorde'?"

"No! I—"

"But it is just how you vere born, no? You cannot deny it?"

William felt the cobbles beneath him turn to quicksand. Otto was giving him the phosphorescent stare that only a vampire could give. "Well, yes, but—"

"So you understand."

For once, William de Worde was at a loss for words. He settled on tensing his jaw resentfully instead. 

Sacharissa, feeling out of place in all this, politely cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should be getting back now,” she said lamely.

For the rest of the journey, William stewed on the comments from the vampire leaning on his shoulder. The mere thought of his own father was making his skin crawl more than usual. Perhaps I really have been stupid, he reflected. What you are and who you are… they’re both true, aren’t they? But perhaps, for just a moment, the Truth can leave its boots off and relax. 

[whywhaatt]

write some angst. huge sad angst. argument? sure! fucking idk make me cry. any cc, idc, just make me sad.

we got some sad shit baby💪💪💪

"You need to leave." (big t x reader)

words: 1.368

a/n: ok so basically... i just got drunk, then when i was sober i wrote how i was thinking. sorry if its hard to read but have fun :)

warnings: alcohol mention + use, yelling, and a whole lot of cussing

-

Tanner is getting on my god damn nerves. Last night, I spent the night alone in my apartment and dressed for a date that did not happen. Every text and call I send him I get no answer. I can't tell if I'm supposed to be upset, worried, or pissed off but somehow I'm feeling all three.

For context, we've had this date planned for a couple of weeks. It's already been postponed due to my job or random things Nick asks him to do. And after 3 weeks, we finally both had a free day to have a simple and good date.

15 missed calls, 50+ texts, and 10 hours later I just parked my car in front of Tanner's house. I've gotta calm down. It could've been a mistake, a stupid mistake at that but we all mistakes. No what am I thinking, he deserves to get yelled at. So many thoughts are going through my head. At one point I'm pissed off, but on the other I don't know what happened.

I grab my shit, locking my car behind me, and walk up to the front door. Giggling at the "gay" welcome mat, I ring the door bell... no answer. Okay? I'll just ring it again... no answer again. What is going on? Nick's room is right here, at least he should be able to hear it.

I'm calling Nick.

"Hello?" He picks up the phone.

"Hey Nick, I'm outside. Can you let me in?"

"Yeah sure, one sec" He hangs up. A couple of seconds later, the door opens. A simple "thanks" comes out my mouth all muffled as I shove past Nick to walk towards Tanner's room. Isaac sitting on the couch, looks up and let's me know Tanner's still asleep. Great. Just great... I don't want to wake him up in a bad mood.

Whatever. He deserves it. I need to know what happened. I slam open his door to see him laying in bed sound asleep, with alcohol bottles covering his desk and his sweatpants on the floor next to the bed. His room's a mess, well when isn't it really? The only time its considered to be clean is when you clean it.

He must've heard the door open, cus he slowly wakes up and turns over to see me standing in his room.

"Baby, w-what are you doing here?" he asks so innocently.

"What am I doing here?? I should be asking what you're doing here?" I'm basically yelling.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?!? What do I- uh. I can't with you. We had a date planned for last night!"

"Wha- OH!! Baby, baby please come here. Please come here I'm so sorry."

'No- No absolutely not. What did you do last night? Tell me."

"I-I was drinking with Isaac and Yumi. We played that stupid truck sim game and streamed. Then I just drank and watched anime until I passed out I guess." He admits. What. The. Fuck. I must've said that out loud cus Tanner immediately started to apologize again, "I'm so sorry baby, I completely forgot. Please let me make it up to you".

"No, I'm going home. You better find a way to make this better" I say as I walk out his room and closing the door behind me. The guys must've heard it all happen, cus I could feel Isaac and Nick staring at me as I walk out the front door. I didn't say a word, I just kept my head low and kept walking towards my car. Once I got in my car I just needed to scream.

FUCK.

Okay, that's a little bit better.

-

I got home and immediately turned my phone completely off, tossing it on my night stand and not looking back. I just need to do something else, get my mind off of what just happened. I need a drink. I grab some alcohol from the mini fridge I keep next to my desk. It's a vodka kind of day.

5 shots in...

10 shots in...

20 gulps in...

fuuuck. maybe i should've stopped like 20 sips ago. were those even considered sips? they were too big to be sips. my brain is fuzzzzyyy.

i gottta admiT what i said to Tanner was fuckked up, but i don't mean any of it. I should text him. N-NO!! I'm not texting him.

But I miss him, no I dont. fuck im crying now. ok this is happeninggg. I need to lay down. go lay on the bed. okay. im on the bed now.

knock knock knock

what. what the fuck was what.

knock knock knock

there it is again. am i dying? fuck. is that god? it's getting louder

knock knock knock

oh wait. its my frontt dooor. silly me. i'll go open it. come on body get up. one steep at a time.

"Baby. You scared me." oohhhh iits tanner.

"H-H-Heeeeeeeyyyy Taaaannnerrrrr" wait no i'm mad at him. actually, i'm just falling, oh shit.

"Oh my god, let's get you in bed. Come on" heee says while catching me, he's so strongg. i can feel his muscles, oh my god.

im laying down now. in my bed, i don't remember getting here. oh yeah Tanner.

"Y-Youu, youung sir, you neeed to leave" i slur outt, hehe.

"I'm not leaving you like this"

"Buuut. I'm mad at you a-a-and so you need to leave."

"Just go to-"

-

I woke up in pajama's and a massive headache. What the-

"Are you okay?" Oh. I remember now. I shake my head yes and sit up to see Tanner sitting on the foot of my bed. God, I'm regretting a lot of shit now.

"Baby... I'm so sorry. Can we talk about this? I need to apologize a lot." He says, so quiet it's basically a whisper. He looks up at me meeting my eyes. Was he.. crying? His eyes were all puffy and his hair was all messed up.

"Look, I fucked up. I know I did. But, baby, please forgive me for it. This is the first date I've missed in the forever the fuck long we've been dating. You didn't deserve that. You don't deserve that. I tried to think of all the things I could buy you, or do for you, to make up. But truthfully, the best option was being here for you and letting you know I care.

"I know you don't want to hear this right now, but I love you. I love you so fucking much. At the end of the day, I would choose you over anybody. Please, baby, just forgive me so I can forgive myself." Tanner whispers, a few tear leaving his eyes.

"It's sad, the first thought I had is that you were cheating on me. Then I thought you died, or just decided you hated me. I spent all of last night on the couch crying in the outfit I would've worn. I'm sorry I yelled at you, I just let my emotions get the best of me. You just... You really scared me. I thought I lost you." I confess. I can't make eye contact with him. I close my eyes as streams of tears run down my face and onto the pillow I've been holding. I feel the bed shift and I think Tanner got up and walked away, but suddenly I feel a pair of arms wrap around me.

-

For the past 30 minutes Tanner and I have been doing the 3 C's: cuddling, crying, and comforting.

"Relationships are hard" I think aloud.

"Yeah but we make it work." Tanner says, kissing my neck. My head is still pounding from all the alcohol I had, I can imagine Tanner was feeling the same when I yelled at him. To whoever said relationships were supposed to be easy, fuck you. It's hard to put your total 100% trust and love into one person all the time. And on top of that, you get that back. Plus work, or school, and making sure you're still taking care of yourself.

"I'm glad I have you" I confess.

Today was a long ass day.

a/n: this one is shorter, but i honestly cried while writing it. sorry if the drunk part is too hard to read!! requests are open so do whatever you will with that information. love yall, and thank you so much for all the support

[spilledmilkfkdies]

Brandon/Riven, Ogron/Gantlos and Duman/Anagan for ship bingo? 👀

Go off bestie, send me three, be wild be free. They're in the order you asked them, might need a click to see them better.

Brandon x Riven:

I know exactly what you're doing. Asking me something I don't have a permit for. Setting me up for failure. Anyway, I've never heard of that ship before, idk how popular it is generally, but it doesn't sound too bad. I say as I look over my shoulder cautiously. I'd like to know what a shipper of them has to say, tell me what their appeal is and I will hear you out with activated ears.

Ogron x Gantlos:

They are my dads, my evil gay wizard dads. They make sense and I appreciate them a lot. Just so genuinely unproblematic, idc what the comics and books decided to do after season 4. Gantlos is not Ogron's lackey, they're equals and love each other very much. Don't make me bring up the train scene again istg- If the reboot makes them related, I don't think I'll ever recover. That's a very cursed fear I've been living with ever since it first came out the wizards are coming back.

Duman x Anagan:

I have said it several times before and I will never stop saying it. They are twice married, thrice divorced. "That is my worst enemy" (affectionate). Yes they bicker constantly because they are soooo sick of each other after centuries, but if you think they can last more than a few weeks apart you'd be WRONG. Even if you only view them platonically, they still work. This is a dog & cat duo and I'm tired of pretending they're not.

[wibble-wobbegong]

The end of the year is near! Give a shoutout to your favorite blogs and tag them to spread positivity before the year ends! (from: a secret anon)

FUCK YEAH!!!!

okay my favorite theory/analysis blogs

@aemiron-main - actually i hate him. im lying. all he does is cause me unimaginable pain and suffering. no but genuinely a genius theorist and has eyes like a hawk!! he does a fantastic job at thoroughly combing the show and finding the littlest details that don’t make sense in order to build a bigger picture and i eat it up every time! love him even though i think he’s goading me to kill myself whenever he reblogs one of my posts and the tags start with “wibble what if i told you”

@bugsbenefit - my absolute favorite blog to read about narrative analysis from!!! they do an amazing job explaining oddities from a narrative position as well as identifying ways certain theories are either supported by or don’t work with the way the narrative needs to flow in S5. she’s also super skilled at keeping my attention throughout a post with the way she writes

@bylerschmyler - love this guy because they’re not afraid to point out the flaws of something and create counter arguments but they also aren’t doing that stuff to discredit a theory but rather challenge its strength!! like they won’t press on if the original theory can go against the counter points they make. PLUS they create incredible theories of their own!!! the mike is the 4th victim stuff is really good

@finalgirlbyers - idc if they consider themself an analysis blog or not because I do. they regularly have fantastic takes and explain things in a quick and easy to understand way. she genuinely has a great grasp on the show but she’s also very open minded which is always so nice to see!! like if you’re looking for short, sweet, banger posts that hit the nail on the head i am pointing at their blog

@heroesbyler - ok. stav is the only person whose analysis i have legitimately cried over. the approach she takes to covering the very serious and dark topics of stranger things is something i really appreciate because she doesn’t curve the pure horror of some of the stuff going on. if you really wanna feel just how horrific the gay horror show is i’d recommend reading some of stav’s analysis because she NAILS it and does not mask just how fucked up it can get.

@laozuspo - james always has some incredibly niche but great insight to the show!! theory wise, i’m always amazed by how intricate his research for a theory will get so when you read his posts it’s just evidence on top of evidence and it’s always really engaging and VERY interesting. radiationgate had me hooked for days because there was just SO much to explore regarding that topic and there were so many little details that just make so much sense!!!

@mlchaelwheeler - MY SISTER IN MICHAEL DEFENSE!!! one of the original mike defenders and someone who i trust to accurately talk about mike’s character, which is saying a lot because i’m Me. ALSO she kick started so many great conversations!! iirc, she was the one who made the original theory about henry having been the one who kidnapped will, not the demogorgon way back in like. June. she’s been on it longer than any of us

favorite authors :)

@andiwriteordie - ok SO i have to tell you guys that this shit??? my life hasn’t been the same since i first read this. i know it’s an older one but it’s in my top three fics of all time i legitimately adore it!! pure jet fuel for that last week before V2 dropped and honestly part of me still really wants that final scene to happen in S5 ngl. like it kills me every time i read it but it’s just so GOOD

@astrobei - oh suni, how i her love writing. always a GREAT time when you’re reading an astrobei fic, and i think my favorite is still this one!! it’s just got such a fun vibe and the characterization is immaculate and the plot is really intriguing! it’s one of those fics where you can’t stop reading even though it’s like half the length of an entire novel. sometimes sleep is worth the sacrifice and this fic is one of them

@blueeandyellowmakesgreen - top ten reasons to kill myself; this ficlet. jade i absolutely love you but this??? fuck you for making me go through that not once but TWICE. i felt that shit in my SOUL and it HURT. it hurt SO BAD. writing so good it makes you immobile for 6.5 hours because you can’t stop replaying the image in your head 🖕🖕 (<3)

@/byeler - ok not actually @-ing this person because we’ve never interacted and i’m not about to make a fool of myself by being a little fanboy loser BUT. absolutely incredible writing. reading this had me so fucking sucked in dude, like i was reading and reading and i couldn’t believe time had passed at all. pure romance can be hard for me to steam roll through sometimes but i genuinely forgot that I was a Person while reading that

@elekinetic - ummmmmm hello??? script writer of all time? you’re not just reading it, you’re not just watching it, you’re being transported inside the show with the way she writes. every single character is on point and she maintains the atmosphere of the show itself BEAUTIFULLY!!! my favorite script thus far is probably the one where eddie gets shot, though it doesn’t seem like it’s up anymore. the ending has me gasping out loud because i saw it happening in real time in front of my eyes

@smoosnoom - MOON!!!! OHHHHH MY GOD i can’t even recommend one specific thing because every fic is just soooooo giggles twirls my hair. i am the number one smoosnoom fanboy. i fucking eat that shit up!!! like, whenever it’s time to read a smoosnoom fic I don’t just open the fic i KNOW i’m not moving till i’m done so i get some snacks and get really comfy and then i dive in and don’t move till i’m finished. every fic absolutely slays i cannot recommend every single fic enough

favorite editors!!!

@strangersynth - do i really have to say anything?? it’s time. like no shit he’s one of the best editors around and i think everyone knows that at this point. THE editor!! absolutely obsessed with every video. i really like the way she takes clips that aren’t really character clips but just stuff you wouldn’t even really think of or remember to build the tone of the video and it always comes together so well!!! like it’s the small details that he nails and that make the videos so incredibly delicious

@/thatgaymood - ok they just made a lot of funny edits + they’re really good at adjusting audio/visuals to make the character say and do shit that definitely didn’t happen but it’s really really well done so it’s just. I don’t know how to explain it. i was gonna find one of the more popular audios but i was scrolling their blog and found this and it made me kick my feet a little cause like. idk watch it and you’ll understand

favorite artists

@blueeandyellowmakesgreen - and she’s back! art that is so scrumptious and delicious and like. It’s like spaghetti kinda ! anyway here’s my favorite piece from jade and i will never shut up about it ever because everything about it is just sooooooo chomping biting chewing slurping devouring

@bujomoss - Hsbebbdbva bc d bujomoss is fucking!!!!! i love the way they draw mike like i love it so bad it’s not even funny. everything they make is so so good and my current favorite is this piece they did but it changes like twice a day bc bujo never does anything that isn’t one of the best things I’ve ever seen with my own two eyeballs

@gmaybe666 - BARKING BITING OH MY GOD. ok just so everybody is aware i am the biggest gmaybe fan around. legitimately i am such a fan i could gush about every single piece they do for days on end. it’s just SO good and it’s an art style i cannot get enough of. i have to scroll through their art regularly or i’ll start combusting it’s like air to me!! if i could link every drawing i simply Would but for now go give this piece some love please please please

@new-ronantics - OHHHHH MY DEAREST EEVIE!!! <33 art that is just so pleasing to look at. like it’s like biting into the most satisfying meal you’ve ever had!! amazing texture but not in the art way like if i bit into it i think it would have the texture of something i cannot even imagine but i know it would be the greatest of all time. incredibly bitable art i wish it were real food so bad. top ten bitable images

@nnilkyway - BITES HIM. ummmm ok so im definitely totally 100% normal about his art! yeah no it’s not like i turn into a wild rabid beast whenever a new nnilkyway piece is finished no definitely not bc i’m just So Normal about it. this means a normal amount to me because i am So-

@/taeiris go to her fucking blog. not elaborating. fucking do it before I Find You.

and the non-st blog boys 💪

@ed89 - edward my funny silly guy 👊😼 it’s been a minute but he’s hilarious and his time in the st fandom will never be forgotten. also if he sees this hi ed guess who hit his first bong two days ago :)

@ronaldreaganoffical - me and ronald reagan have a bromance i don’t expect any of you to understand. they’re from way before i even joined the st fandom when i was hardly even a blog, so actually they’re one of my most treasured mutuals even though we’re no longer in the same fandoms. love you bro <3

[seldaryne]

haven't finished the durge pt yet (idc about spoiling anything though that has 0 impact on me enjoying the game fdgh) but i've been thinking Thoughts.

edit okay as i was writing this i went ahead and just read up on the backstory so i could continue my thoughts in a coherent manner lmfao

(lots of info here, apparently ive gotten Very attached to her in the last uh. three weeks give or take. kinda sorta chronological?? idk it makes sense to me lmao)

--

velrith probably definitely only settled on that name in act 2. prior that she was just called whatever people drifted to if they needed her attention. & she didn't really care, having a void for memories will do that to a bitch, but it can make introductions awkward or give them a weird 'im too good to even give you my identity' energy. not super great when paired with someone who doesn't really emote or put a ton of effort into masking tonal inflections. she pointedly allowed other people to do more of the talking as a result for a while & would get roped into conversations that way.

i'd like to go ahead and tie in astarion's frequent use of pet names here to this too. he's got a goal here, and can't just drop a 'hey you' every time he's angling for something. it's easier to fill in the blanks that way & make sure it doesn't come across as cold and calculated as the seduction actually is for a time. of course, the mental gymnastics weren't necessary here. aside from the fact that she's extremely intense about her oath & therefore is legally obligated to send cazador straight to hell on sight, he'd also have the same luck with a low-effort, straightforward 'do you want to have sex?' the lines are... usually fine, never actually crossing boundaries, but she does find a lot of them to be really goddamn weird & unnecessary when the point could be made in less than 10 words.

picture a distraught-looking sighthound & you have the general idea of the face she makes when he lays it on thick. she's giving her best shot at a socially appropriate expression. it's not working.

also on names, she can't say for sure if that's who she was before or if she just pieced together syllables that sounded like Something from memory. again, doesn't really matter either way, since she's not in any hurry to reclaim her former self. it's fine.

ketheric felt straightforward. a tragic figure who she did extend an olive branch towards, but ultimately felt nothing when it came time to bring her blade down (besides, isobel seemed like she knew what she was talking about when velrith confessed [suddenly coming back into her room just to point-blank tell her about the desire to spill her blood] certain thoughts of violence towards the cleric, and it felt like the sort of assurance she should be trusting, right? more than any of her own emotions, anyway.)

gortash gives her the ick. like, there's no other way to describe that one. he actually probably still would even without all the history (and the fact that he needed to repent for what he'd done to karlach), but the slimy over-familiarity was really the nail in the coffin there. velrith isn't smooth nor particularly socially gifted, but she has a certain air of formal pride she carries herself with. acting like you know her better than she does herself (even if it may very well be the truth!) is so beyond an overstep of what she's able to function with. stripping away everything else, if he even tried to touch her casually on the shoulder, he would have been liable to lose that hand.

orin troubles her. for the obvious reasons, but she also just... pities her. almost. pre-tadpole, velrith was honestly relatively similar compared to her current personality. colder and more able to justify slaughter, sure, but still staunchly refusing to compromise her own feelings for social games. she understood how the game pieces moved when she watched other people, even when she was younger, but if asked to copy the same techniques, she was only ever able to bludgeon straight through in a line. consequently, people don't really care how strange you are if you're just that good at your job. orin made a one-sided rivalry out of someone who otherwise just regarded her as a peer in the same arena, and now sees her as someone who wouldn't have been able to take the chance at redemption even if it had been on the table. she was too far gone, unable to stand on her own or cope with the fact that she would always be lesser than someone who genuinely could not have cared less about standings. maybe if velrith had feigned some interest, there wouldn't have been so much hatred. or maybe there would have.

either way, she sees orin in a depressing light. someone who had nothing and no one but the prospect of power, and who crumbled as soon as that chance at power was taken away. to let her live would have been to co-sign on her projecting those emotions outwards. velrith isn't stupid and knows there's a good chance she might have gone the same way if she hadn't been lucky enough to receive her parasite. in another life, she thinks that maybe she could have found a connection, and they might have saved each other (either genuinely or in a twisted version of the word). this isn't a thought she shares with anyone. she thinks about that death and their interactions for a long time afterwards.

her 'normal' childhood sometimes comes to her in fleeting memories that disappear out of her periphery if she focuses too hard. she thinks she liked her parents, and they seemed like nice people from what she can semi-recall. but she can also tell that there's always just been something wrong with her if she compares herself to other people. many of these snippets feature her looking anywhere but at her parents' faces, unable to express herself verbally in a way they could understand (the words were right, they way she used them was... her own, shall we say?). something flipped at some point, and all of the sudden she would stare too much at them, not blinking or looking away at the right moments. they'd seemed to squirm a bit under this. they always seemed a bit sad when they looked at her, as if they'd loved her but she was never quite as they hoped she would be.

she had to be taught what to do during a hug as an older child instead of leaving her arms limp at her sides. she knows that.

she doesn't remember killing them. she doesn't remember how it would have felt to receive her first order or how she was unable to do anything but listen to the violent urges.

there's more guilt for not feeling much towards them than there is for the killing.

the staring hasn't shifted again. she knows she looks at people too hard and/or too long, looks at them dead in the eyes and studies their faces, but she can't help it. one, it's good to be aware and alert. two, looking away doesn't seem to be the answer either. at least this way they know she's paying attention, right?

she thinks she shouldn't care about these things, that it's so ridiculous coming from her blood-soaked past, laughable that she'd wonder what it meant to have people relax in your presence instead of becoming more visibly anxious. but she wants to be good, she really, really does. she wants to be able to join a group like everyone else, slipping seamlessly into their words and laughing how they laugh instead of her own (the faintest of smiles and a soft rush of air running past her lips, blink-and-you'll-miss-it laughter that may as well not exist outside of her head). she doesn't hate herself for these things, because she doesn't know how else to be, but she does wonder. she wants to know what it's like for these things to be easy. bhaal's favourite hadn't been blessed with charisma, apparently.

consequently, she has a very hard time now figuring out how to actually connect with anyone, or what it should feel like to have friends.

it made her somewhat uncomfortable in the beginning to be asked questions by these people on a regular basis. not even personal questions, just things to signal that she existed to them in some capacity. gale remembers when she'd wrinkled her nose at a certain seasoning, and leaves it off her plate when he makes dinner going forward. lae'zel likes how she fights and asks her questions on technique, asking to spar so she could better understand the answers. shadowheart thinks they're alike with similar holes in their memories, and seeks out her company because of it. she doesn't understand, and for a while she even feels a bit suffocated by it. exposure therapy is really the only remedy here.

initially there are some reasonable assumptions on whether she just dislikes them all that much, or if she thinks she's better than them, or some other nasty reason. it takes approximately two conversations with her for everyone to understand that's not the case. it's like speaking to someone who only every studied social behaviour from an incomplete textbook and was visibly struggling to fill in the gaps in real-time. is she scary? yes, a bit. does she stare at you Way too much when you're speaking to her (at her, really, because you will be carrying that conversation until she's gotten her footing)? also yes. but she's really earnestly trying to sort herself out for the sake of the people around her, brain twisting around itself to learn things that were as easy as breathing to most. and it's sort of sweet, in its own way.

over time, she stops simply caring about these people based on her code of ethics. she starts to remember things about them too, her love language starts to show itself through gift-giving at an absolutely glacial pace, but it's noticeable to literally everyone despite that. a small trinket picked up at the market matching shadowheart's usual taste is pressed into her hand with only a nod before velrith is turning on her heel and almost running away. a tome is thrust at wyll with such startling intensity that the kindness actually comes off as a bit of a threat, but she looks visibly relieved when he takes it with a smile. so on and so forth. every incident like this, every blunt display of 'i notice you. i think you would like this. i thought of you today,' is accompanied by a hasty exit. task accomplished, but now the script has run out, so she's doing the same. she also finds it hard to look at people once the exchange has taken place, and is pretty sure this is an affliction only she suffers from.

she's going to push through it anyway, even if it makes her skin feel like its trying to recoil off her bones.

it also comes out in the protection. again, it's expected as a paladin of devotion, but no one is quite prepared for the molten fury that burns in her eyes or the weight of her voice whenever ghosts from the past arise. not only has she sworn her protection to those suffering from harm (and names like orin, gortash, cazador, viconia & more absolutely qualify as those who cause harm), but it feels personal. acting as shield and guillotine is when velrith is truly in her element, standing tall and embodying the virtues laid out in her tenets.

she is fighting internally just as much as externally, pushing back against base instincts to continue her sworn oath. driving her sword through the flesh of the emperor is just as much about defeating him as it is proving to herself that she is still capable of goodness. if she falls here, she can at least die knowing she was dedicated to rebellion until her very last breath.

this does not mean that she actually registers it when people like her, though. in fact, once she pieces together what her true nature is (she hadn't wanted to kick that poor animal, or make a spectacle of that nice bard's corpse, or try to rip out astarion's throat as he slept--but she had done those things, and more, and what's worse, some of them don't even to her like they would anyone else) she's pretty sure that the unanimous, logical choice would be to put her at a distance.

so she braces, prepares, makes peace with returning to the status quo & starts pulling away before staging her little ted talk. jaheira catches her first, though, and it gets to her. she's not spoken much to the woman, but she's... incredibly understanding, actually. so much so that it leaves velrith with a profound ache in her chest when she rolls over and tries to sleep again (jaheira's insistence, and her promise to stand watch all night in case she lost control again). being around jaheira hurts like hell, but she still seeks her out after that incident. she looks at her kindly but doesn't treat her with any more fragility than before. she's good-humoured when answering question after question about bhaalspawn, and stays honest the whole time too. she seeks her out when she isolates as much as she can on the outside of camp, dropping a sack of potatoes at velrith's feet and sitting beside her so that they can peel them in easy silence.

she likes that the most. sometimes it feels like velrith's head is too full; not from the parasite or the echoes of a murderous god, but from--she's not sure, actually, but it makes thinking hard, and speech tends to take a temporary leave as well. no amount of coaxing makes a difference, it'll return when it decides to. that's the bad sort of silence, the type that other people feel like they should fix so that everyone can be comfortable again. except jaheira, who apparently can figure out what she needs before velrith can even process that question. and sometimes, she just needs to peel some potatoes for a bit.

standing before everyone else, she prepares for the logical choice of rejection again. instead, she's greeted with shrugs, support, sympathy, but overall--not much of a change. that's the part that sends her off, only pausing just long enough to take a breath before excusing herself to the surrounding woods. it hurts so damn much, being loved like this. she wonders if any technicalities in her oath actually require her to slay herself at this point, just based on the implications alone. they should be appalled. fearful. cold. and she'd wound herself up so much inside determining this to already be the only end to her confession. bare your soul, lose what you'd only started to ease into, return to your duty.

the other shoe never does drop, though. it's gone so catastrophically well that she can't even make the tears flow properly (she's only done it once before that she remembers, but that should be adequate). instead, her sobs are muffled gasps against her hands, choking on her own confusion as she sinks to the ground, shaking.

of course, this comes out after the "incident", in the underdark, which means astarion has already seen her cry precisely once of something that seemed to her a similar scale. he's got a better handle on it, he'd like to believe, and he can sense that he's being silently volunteered for the 'fetch our bhaalspawn' quest. she's not hard to find either, an ice-white tiefling amongst the greenery with her head hidden in her arms, folded in on herself like she's not worth the weight of her own bones. it's sad, and a little annoying, actually, because if she was to insist that he possessed worth like it was the most obvious fact in the world, like he was strange for not feeling the same way, why shouldn't that same sentiment extend in her direction.

of course, there's little he can say to soothe in a way that matters, he's not going to make that mistake again, but he's at least able to bring her up for air. yes my love, perhaps it is foolish and unwise for any of us to stay around something so dangerous, but that argument can be made in many directions, not just yours. you would be the first among us to dismiss those very notions if they were coming from someone else, and have done so--multiple times, may i add--as bhaalspawn. if there's upset about the reveal, i'm confident that it's more to do with how you feel than anything else.

and really, what's she supposed to do with that aside from break even more (from relief, maybe? tension and fear of rejection that she hadn't known how to recognize, hadn't known she was holding onto? the understanding that this is not just from him, but on behalf of everyone else too?) and crumble into him.

against all odds, she is worthy of loving. despite her bloodline and her personal shortcomings, she is worthy of that much.

nothing in half-measures, as most paladins tend to be. does she remember when or why or even how she took the oath? not even a bit. but it's the only thing in her head when she wakes up on the mind flayer ship, the sole thing she's sure of, the only guiding direction she has. it should be enough to understand right and wrong, but it isn't for her. following the oath is a choice, something she can steady herself on when nothing else makes sense. devotion to her cause of protection, restoring some of the balance in the world that she lost before orin killed her. maybe that was why she lived; something needed her to right some of her sins before death arrived. or maybe a divine power was looking for someone who wouldn't be missed if they were lost in stopping the ithilids.

whatever it is, she does everything in her power to stick to it. until, of course, life happens (as it tends to) and she does something in the underdark. what did she do? she doesn't know, because she thought she was helping--that myconid was going to betray the colony that took him in when he lost all others. she raised her sword when it was clear a scolding wouldn't change his mind. and then... the sinking feeling that something was wrong.

something was missing. the only part of her that felt like it was anything was gone, and for the first time (maybe ever?) she gets emotional. there's no anchor anymore, no calming guide of tenets to follow.

the oathbreaker knight will find her later, she knows. at camp, she's distraught, and the little bit she dared interact goes out the window entirely. there's nothing anyone could actually say that would help, anyway. this does not stop astarion from trying.

glib as ever, were she in a more normal headspace she would have seen the dismissive comment for the hand-waving attempt at comfort it was. he probably knows there's nothing he can actually say to bring her down, but surely a joke (meant to reassure that she would be fine regardless, whether the oath stayed broken or was re-taken, she was competent on the field and he at least trusted her that much) would be alright?

it was not.

for all that he carried, he could not--did not--understand. of course he could be cavalier about it; despite all that was taken from him, he still had his own gods-damned name. he knew who he was, wasn't scrambling to put together fragments of his own ghost just to make some unimpressive small talk like she was. she has not yet chosen her name at this point, and that oath is where she begins & ends as a person.

he's silent when she snaps, unexpected. like a cornered animal about to tear its own leg out of a trap, daring anyone to come closer to 'help' so that they too can be maimed. a total loss for words, even when she stalks off to keep herself from acting out even further (who knows how prone she would be to violence now? not her!), raising her voice for the first time at him in pure grief.

he doesn't really get it, but he understand more in the middle of all that. the pieces click together in his mind, working themselves out during the berating. the gods never answered his cries, and so his outlook remained fairly bleak on the whole pantheon. paladins occupied a space at the opposite end of the spectrum, and he'd assumed that her more uptight habits were an offshoot from that (it's not like she gave him a ton to work with, either. he did his best from what he was allowed to see). for her, there may as well have been no gods involved in any capacity. it was simply the thing that kept her from fracturing entirely, now gone thanks to a misunderstood line in the agreement.

she still refuses to speak to him, even after she's begged for the oath back--she'll be good this time, really, she'll be good, she promises, it won't happen again, please--and received it successfully. she's not talking much to anyone, feeling both too exhausted and over-sensitive to even contemplate that. his apology isn't... good, exactly. but it's honest and that's really all she gives a shit about. things are still weird and cold for a bit, manifesting in a physical distance & reinforcing just how off his initial read on her was. but it's her first real brush with interpersonal conflict, so learning curves are expected. time and circumstance eventually help things settle, with there being bigger things to worry about.

she's quiet during sex. responsive and hyper-aware of her body, definitely, but still restrained. she enjoys the act, however, despite the lack of volume, and this shows through a readiness to explore and feel things. the ability to feel physical pleasure is something that at least seems to be something she has in common with most people. but she's overly permissive too, sometimes uncomfortably so; she's simply not attached enough to her body to have real concerns or strong preferences. at first glance, this seems to be deference, the need to be agreeable in every situation lest she tip the scales too much in her own direction.

he puts his finger on that after the third encounter, and finds himself taking a break from her for a while after as a result (once again, an act that she's absolutely fine with--god, has the thought of challenging him ever even crossed her mind in this department?). Further observation, however, reveals something else. her actions are exploratory. experimental. there's no frame of reference, she needs to establish preferences all over again for this version of herself. in fact, he sees that this extends to other tasks people ask of her as well. every action or accompaniment is met with the same reserved curiosity, considering what's being asked of her before ultimately deciding to try something new. perhaps that was why he felt like he was being intensely studied if he squints.

there's no doubt that she does see him. but she only sees enough to know that she lacks the connections to actually do anything with that. an unbalanced, vexing sort of safety net. (still, there was probably no one better for him to glue himself to than a paladin, and he tells himself that's why he spends so long trying to figure her out. because surely, her motivations can't be as obviously honest as they come across--can they?)

it's only after she tells him on the name she's privately decided to give herself (private for now, since everyone else will be informed in the morning) that he starts to realize just how much he enjoys kissing her. she's not nearly as practiced as he is, but gods, there's such a single-mindedness to the kisses it actually leaves him dizzy. her focus is so all-encompassing, the world around them may as well have been unravelling at its seams and she still wouldn't break contact. chasing pleasure but holding back just enough to keep her head above the water, prolonging the act as much as she can. he's been kissed before. many times, actually, but not like this.

there is... so much disappointment when rejecting bhaal doesn't actually change anything fundamental in her. on one hand, that really does mean that it's been her personality the entire time. that the good choices she made were hers, and they were worth fighting for.

on the other hand, fostering even that small seed of hope that she might become less of herself and more like other people had been a dangerous game. the distance remains, along with the lack of understanding and knowledge that some things would always be more hard-won for her, while others would simply be entirely beyond her reach. knowing this logically is one thing. accepting it is... entirely different. it will take time, and she will at least allow herself as much so as to properly grieve a version of herself whose body knew how to laugh freely.

she'll be okay.

[luna-writes-stuff]

Day 11: This Love, Fives

Song link

Fanfic, fem!Reader

Fluff

Word count: 2153

Tw: This was originally written on Wattpad three years ago and you can tell. Yell against the wall, idc; i needed something. Slight references to battle grounds.

Summary: Fives always held the habit of bringing you tiny gifts after shifts and missions. For once, you wanted to return him the favour. But when he comes home earlier, you are still in the midst of your work. And all Fives wants to do is lay in bed and do nothing.

“Clear blue water High tide came and brought you in And I could go on and on, on and on, And I will.”

Three weeks. It has been three weeks since you last saw Fives. He had yet another mission and you weren't allowed to complain.

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started this relationship. You had just wished he would wake you up before he left. Each time he has to leave before sunrise, he refuses to wake you up and leaves you a little note with chocolate instead. Why the chocolate? You never knew. Eventually it just became tradition and you decided not to question it.

You never knew how long Fives would be gone. It could be two days, but it could also take two months. Fives would call you every single night, keeping you updated on whatever is happening, telling you he loves you, sending you a virtual kiss and occasionally tearing up because he just wants to hold you.

“Skies grew darker Currents swept you out again And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone.”

This time however, you decided to surprise him. You had redone the entire living room within two weeks and decided that the kitchen was next. You had ripped out every single cupboard door, repainting it and buying completely new cutlery and tableware for the kitchen. It took you three whole days to repaint everything in the kitchen, but the work had finally paid off.

You were currently rearranging the cups and mugs, making sure that they were separated. You had redone this at least four times, but it never seemed to have the effect you wanted. You were so busy with the stupid cups, that you didn't even hear the door open. You had climbed onto the counter to be able to reach the cupboards correctly. You didn't want to waste your time using a chair instead.

"Cyare, you know what I think about this." You suddenly heard behind you.

You yelped and dropped one of the cups, making it shatter as it came in contact with the floor.

"Noooo!" You yelled, jumping of the counter, falling to your knees next to the fallen pieces of the purple cup.

“In silent screams In wildest dreams I never dreamed of this.”

"You killed Maximilius." You joked, looking up at Fives. He smiled at you and kneeled down beside you.

"I've missed you too."

Before he could react, you jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tackling him to the floor. He laughed and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

"Missed you more." You mumbled as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his all too familiar scent.

"I see you've changed our living room." He whispered, kissing your cheek. You broke the hug and laid your arms next to his head, looking down at him.

"I have. I know you like blue, so I tried to work it into the furniture a little, but it was really difficult because there aren't a lot of blue couches, which is weird because they had millions of pink ones. And did you know that the even sold-" You didn't have the time to finish as he planted his lips against yours. You didn't even try to fight back as you happily moved your lips in sync with his, mesmerizing the familiar feeling.

“This love is good This love is bad This love is alive back from the dead.”

"You were rambling." He said, breaking the kiss.

"Only because I know how you stop me." You answered with a smirk, climbing off of him. "I had actually hoped you would've been gone a little longer. Might have finished the kitchen in time." You mumbled, looking at the open cupboards, squinting your eyes at a plate that was a tiny different shade of yellow than the others ones.

“Curse you...." you mumbled quietly.

“These hands had to let it go free, and This love came back to me.”

"Well, you are going to take a break right now, because I'm really tired and I could use your cuddles." Fives spoke, standing up and wrapping his hands around your waist from behind. You sunk into his chest and held onto his arms, which were still covered in their armor.

"How about, you take a shower first and get into some more comfortable clothing? Then, we'll talk." You spoke, turning around in his grip and planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"Won't you join me?" He asked, pouting at you.

“Tossing, turning Struggled through the night with someone new And I could go on and on, on and on.”

"I'm busy. Plus, I showered this morning. Now go. Shoo." You placed another quick kiss on his lips and nudged him out of the kitchen.

"And I want a good shower! Not a ten-second shower because you're in dying need of attention." You yelled after him.

“But I am!" You hear his response from the bedroom.

"These are my terms, you dork!"

“Lantern, burning Flickered in the night, only you But you were still gone, gone, gone.”

You kneeled down next to the broken cup and picked up the big shards of glass, throwing it into the container. After sweeping the floor you could finally hear the water in the refresher running. You let out a sigh of relief and climbed back up and the counter, resuming your quest to find the perfect order for the cups and mugs.

A few minutes later, you had moved onto the cutlery. The biggest challenge of them all. Every single, silver, shining piece was laying on the counter. The water had stopped running a few seconds ago, putting you under pressure as you wanted to finish the kitchen tonight.

“Why did I buy so many spoons?! I only need two!" You groaned in aggravation, slamming your hand next to the spoons. "I know I shouldn't have listened to that sales-lady."

"Cuddles!" You heard from the bedroom.

"Five more minutes!"

"No. Now!"

“I'm busy!"

“In losing grip On sinking ships You showed up just in time.”

There was no response for that and you assumed you had won. Naturally, you went back to the cutlery.

“Okay, these are the tiny spoons, so they should be in the smaller basket on the counter along with the dessert forks." You mumbled to yourself, picking up the spoons.

"Come here." You heard from behind you.

Before you could grab a spoon to defend yourself, Fives had slung you over his shoulder and started walking towards the bedroom.

"Put me down!"

"You'll run right back to the kitchen." He swung you onto the bed and plopped down beside you. You quickly rolled over and tried to escape the bed.

“This love is good This love is bad This love is alive back from the dead.”

"Oh no, you don't." Fives responded quickly and grabbed your waist, dragging you into his arms.

"You promised." He said, kissing your temple.

“I said I would think about it. And I really want this finished tonight." You pouted, trying to fight his grip.

"You're not going anywhere, cyar'ika." He mumbled, nuzzling his head against the back of your shoulder. You groaned and crossed your arms, even though it didn't make much of a difference.

"But the lights..." you mumbled. "I left the lights on." A grunt of disapproval was heard behind you as the warm grip on your disappeared.

“These hands had to let it go free, and This love came back to me.”

"I'll get it. You stay here." You nodded and laid silently until you were sure he had left the room.

Then it was your time to strike.

You quickly snuck out of the bedroom and waited in the hall. As Fives shut down the lights, you hid in the shadows. He passed you and made his way back into the bedroom. You then ran into the kitchen and switched the lights back on, resuming your earlier arrangement about the spoons and forks.

"Y/N!" Was heard from the bedroom as your eyes widened. You quickly grabbed a handful of spoons and dropped them into the basket.

"Y/N! Get your ass back in bed!"

“This love left a permanent mark This love is glowing in the dark, These hands had to let it go free, and This love came back to me.”

"No!!" As you turned around you came face to face with Fives.

This time you were prepared and held the spoon in your hands, holding it like a lightsaber. Fives let out a disappointed sigh and shot you a questioning look.

"I have a spoon and I'm not afraid to use it!" You said as threatening as possible.

"Fine. Go back to your spoons." He said, sitting down on the dining table. "I can wait."

You slowly lowered your spoon and looked at him confused. Nevertheless, you decided not to question it and went back to the cutlery.

“Your kiss, my cheek I watched you leave Your smile, my ghost I fell to my knees.”

You could feel Fives nearing you, but you decided to ignore him. You knew he noticed, but he didn't seem to mind.

“Can I help you with anything?" He asked, finishing his sentence with a yawn.

You turned around and only now noticed the bags under his eyes. You had to admit, you did feel bad for neglecting him like that. He was really doing his best. You just wanted to make him happy by showing him a finished living room and kitchen.

“When you're young, you just run But you come back to what you need.”

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." You said softly, lowering the three forks in your hand and placing it on the counter.

"I just wanted to surprise you when you came back home. You often come home with something like flowers, jewelry, food or souvenirs. I wanted to do something special too. I had hoped to be finished on time."

He didn't respond. He just walked closer to you and took you in his arms. You rested your head on his chest as he softly ran his hands through your hair.

“This love is good This love is bad This love is alive back from the dead.”

"I know cyar'ika, but I'm really tired now. I haven't had decent sleep in four days and I could really use some rest. And judging to the looks of this place in the time I've been gone, you haven't had decent sleep either."

"It had to be finished." You mumbled, slipping your hands under his shirt, rubbing circles on his back.

"We can finish it. Tomorrow. Together. For now, let's just get some sleep." You hummed in approval and reached up to kiss his chin.

"Okay." You mumbled, resting your head back on his chest.

Neither of you broke that hug, but you were too comfortable to even try to back away. Slowly, you slipped your hands back onto the surface and wrapped your hands around his neck. He got the hint and leaned done, giving you a tired, yet heartfelt kiss.

“These hands had to let it go free, and This love came back to me.”

"Let's get some sleep." You murmured, your lips barely parted from his.

He nodded and grabbed your thighs, hoisting you up. You smiled happily and wrapped your legs around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder. As he shut off the lights, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I love you." You whispered, tracing the five on the side of his head.

“Love you more." He whispered back, shutting the bedroom door behind you.

As he slowly lowered your body onto the bed, you quickly grasped the sheets and dived under it. He laughed at your reaction and slipped into bed next to you. You snuggled up next to him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which was faster than usual.

“This love left a permanent mark This love is glowing in the dark These hands had to let it go free, and This love came back to me.”

“Why is your heart beating so fast?" You mumbled, sleep already taking you over.

"Because I've missed this. It's difficult to go to sleep when you're not there. And right now, everything just feels right. And that makes me happy." You smiled at that and rested your hand on the other side of this chest. He softly kissed the top of your head.

"You're not going to get changed?" He remarked.

"I was wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt anyway. Can't see why I can't sleep in this." You shot back, closing your eyes and wrapping your legs around one of his.

"’Night, cyare."

"Goodnight, handsome."

“This love came back to me.”

[apoptoses]

I’d been waiting for the right moment to sink my proverbial teeth into Fade Into You (approximately 45 minutes ago) and I am yet again losing my shit 🥹 not that I was expecting any less from you/this series but that was somewhat of a religious experinece ngl. Loved how much of a soft, sensual and all-encompasing experience it was for both of them, and how much of an exercise in vampire lovemaking it was for Daniel. That shit will come in HANDY someday, and I wonder how aware of it Armand is at the time and how deep in denial he’s trying to remain. Like, if that was a test... Daniel passed with flying colors. THE perfect vampire lover idc what anyone says, Armand had to know right there and then that this was the man who’d keep him coming for the rest of eternity. He lucked out fr fr

First of all, Daniel tying Armand’s hair into a bun, some A+ imagery right there (have you ever seen those pictures of Christian Bale doing it to Natalie Portman? the armandaniel vibes are there imo). Then you had Armand slowly but surely letting his guard down for Daniel, letting himself be vulnerable and soft and needy, and Daniel isn’t sure why but he knows this is a huge thing and will make it count.

And this: “For a moment Armand only blinked at him, so sweet and drunk looking that Daniel couldn’t help but let out a laugh. He’d always assumed it would take something rough and forceful to bring Armand out of his head. He’d never imagined gentleness would have him drifting and slow to respond.” THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE!!! Such a gorgeous description of pliant, sweet Armand. I’m obsessed. How many people have had the chance of seeing Armand like this? Two, maybe three in 500 years? Incredible. 

“It was an unnatural coupling. A shared release no mortal was ever meant to experience, that maybe even god himself hadn’t intended for in the great design of the universe” yesss and that’s what so fascinating about them, Daniel should’ve never experienced any of the things he experienced as a human with Armand, they were not meant for him, and yet he did and they were and he loved every bit of it. He’s such a gift, which is exactly what Armand called him🥹

Can’t wait for the third installment!!! Over the moon that this is now an ongoing series. All of your WIPs sound heavenly tho how exciting 😭xoxo DA

dungeon anon, just the person i wanted to hear from after a rough day ♥

Loved how much of a soft, sensual and all-encompasing experience it was for both of them, and how much of an exercise in vampire lovemaking it was for Daniel. That shit will come in HANDY someday <- Right!! he's so curious about the vampire experience, there's some appeal there for him. like he knows what armand's body can and can't do and he wants to be like him regardless! so i really think he would fixate on it and want to experiment with what being one of armand's kind is like in the more literal sense, and what their physical relationsip could be like once he's turned.

and listen armand describing daniel as gentle over and over, even at the end of TVA when they're on a break is forever on my mind. and so it only made sense that he would be gentle in taking control! it's so natural that he's good at this!

and i just love any excuse to get armand out of his head so like. i had to do it, i had to let someone be gentle with him for the first time in centuries (and i had to let daniel see what he's like in that state because lord! what an impression having armand melt for him like that would leave. he'd be running the show in that bedroom for weeks after just to keep getting repeat performances)

so i'm so happy you loved it!! and i'm having so much fun working on the third part. i've never done freshly turned daniel and he's such a delight, so eager to share a first with armand ♥

Here's a snippet, the first few paragraphs:

It was a terrible thing they’d been through. The sudden threat, the burnings, Akasha. Like living through a World War in the span of just a few days. He should have found it all terribly traumatizing , the way they’d all narrowly escaped death- how he’d escaped death twice in mere hours!- and yet Daniel could only find it all surreal. He watched out the window of the SUV for the breaks in the palm trees and greenery where the lights of Night Island shone through. They were like great fireflies dancing in the darkness, there one second and then, as the cars crawled down the private road, blinking out of existence. Daniel touched the tinted window and tried to blot out the lights with his fingertips. He laughed to himself when a particularly bright one glowed like a halo around his ring finger. “Are you alright?” Louis murmured from the seat beside him. Daniel nodded. “Yes. I have to laugh to keep the dread away.” “Dread?” Daniel didn’t answer. Instead he listened to the low rumble of old Italian coming from the very back seat. Armand and his Maker, Marius, whispering in a dialect he couldn’t understand. Every now and then a word caught on his mind- ‘boy’, ‘danger’, ‘mistake’- but the grammar was lost to him. The declensions of the verbs were too unfamiliar, lost and mutated by time.

Meeting these people should have been an ecstatic thing. And it had been, at first. Walking into the great Sonoma compound and seeing vampires he’d only heard of in Lestat’s book alive and real before his very own eyes- it had been like being a child and discovering Santa Claus wasn’t a myth. Like seeing the living faces of saints. And then, one by one, those relics of Armand’s past had dismissed him. Marius declared he’d lacked common sense (he’d heard that thought and giggled at it at the time, now it sat in his dead stomach like a stone). Gabrielle ignored him when he spoke. Lestat- well, he had cast a glance or two Daniel’s way but then he’d been preoccupied by his mother and Louis, those artifacts of his own existence. And that was fine, really. Daniel was used to being something of an outcast by now. Always a peripheral presence in a group but never an intimate friend. He’d gotten used to that during his years with Armand when they’d uprooted themselves over and over, moving through cities and friend groups like fish through water. No, what sat wrong with him was Armand’s continued distance from him.

(and then- well I swear it gets better from there ♥)